About Face and Final Farewells
by clairon
Summary: Final part of my About Face series in which Templeton struggles to find justice and happiness in a world where things are just not fair! COMPLETED
1. Chapter 1

Rating: M

Type: Angst/Adventure/Supernatural

Pairing: Face/Murdock….but nothing graphic

Summary: Final part of my About Face series in which Templeton struggles to find justice and happiness in a world where things are just not fair!

Warnings/Content: Contains male/male relationship plus attempted rape and drug abuse. While I strongly believe that tolerance is vital and diversity should be embraced and valued if we are all to survive on this little planet, unfortunately some of my characters do not – their views are their own and a reflection of some of the attitudes that sadly still persevere in some places. Also some full-bodied soldier type language.

Author's Notes: In a thread on the messageboard at the A team Shrine, I read that George, T, Dwight and Dirk have been quoted as saying they didn't want the Team to end with a whimper but rather a big violent bang. So this is my attempt at that – handkerchiefs may be useful in the latter stages.

Also I have no experience of the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (Thank God!) and though I have researched a little, I am aware I have taken great liberties. Please accept these as plot necessities and not as unquestionable truth – this is the A Team world after all!

Disclaimer: I do not own the A-Team characters and am making no profit from this story, which is a work of fan fiction only.

Thanks to all who have read and commented on the rest of the series. Your input makes it all worthwhile!

* * *

**ABOUT FACE AND FINAL FAREWELLS**

The stark astringent smell of disinfectant caused his nostrils to flare widely but the boy did not notice; he was too busy trying to fight his way out of the grasp of the persistent hands that held him and pulled him through the door. His resistance was ineffective as relentlessly he was moved into the shower area.

Wide eyed with fear, the boy looked about himself. Hopes of rescue skittering through his head – how long before the guards did a round; surely somebody else would come, could he delay his assailants long enough? But deep inside he despaired; what these violent men had in mind would not take long, although its enactment would surely destroy his life. No one would come and even if they did they dare not interfere. He struggled again, letting the blind panic rush through him; it brought new strength to his wiry, juvenile form. But all it earned him, however, was a further cuff across the head which caused his eyes to water and his vision to shimmer sickeningly.

"Robby, Robby, Robby, I told you that smart mouth of yours gonna get you into trouble!" A voice hissed close to his ear as a further blow caused him to slow his struggling. "You little piece of white shit! You didn't follow the rules did you? Step out of line in a place like this and you have to pay. We all been real patient with you but now you are gonna get punished, big time."

The boy felt his arms pinned painfully behind his back. He tried wriggling desperately but there was nothing he could do, he could not stop the overwhelming force pushing him down to his knees, down to the clinically clean white tiles of the shower floor and down to despair. He growled and bucked as he felt other hands, coming

from behind him, fingering along his waist, working to undo his belt and pants.

Inside he screamed – this could not be happening to him! He knew he took risks, he knew that there had always been a chance he would piss somebody off enough that they would take vengeance out on him and with a pretty face like his and a hot body, this sort of punishment had always been on the cards. But he had carried on regardless, choosing to ignore it, forcing away the fear that this would happen because he knew deep down it was too terrifying for him to contemplate the brutal truth; he feared he could not survive such violation; that it would shatter his voluble but brittleconfidence to useless pieces. Nothing in his life before ever had come close to frightening him like this – not his bruised and battering childhood nor his time on the streets, not even his arrests and trips through juvenile hall that had finally lead to this stretch in a proper adult prison. Call it luck or call it skill, he had managed to steer a course dangerously but invigoratingly close to the edge but never over it. He had kept himself safe, in tact, pure even, in a strange sort of way. Now he was out of control and so far over the brink he was hurtling downwards into the abyss.

Robby let out a desperate groan. He was beaten and scared; the fight had left him. He closed his eyes, head bowed on to the tiles, ass exposed as his pants were pulled down low over his hips. He whimpered, shivering in desolation. He was going to suffer whatever they wanted, powerless and alone, in a prison shower, his worse nightmare was about to become vicious, agonised experience.

"Awh guys!"

The kid felt the arms that held him stiffen a little and then they relaxed noticeably. He gulped, trying to make his ears hear over the cruel chattering of his shuddering teeth and his hammering heart. There was shuffling around him as his attackers turned to look towards the door at the owner of this new voice. The boy could not turn as a well-placed knee in the small of his back held him motionless but he recognised the slight whining tone of the newcomer and a small seed of hope germinated deep within.

"Do you mind doing this somewhere else?" The voice drawled. "Only I just finished cleaning here and I haven't really got the time to do it all again when you're done. I mean blood and semen make such a mess and it's so hard to get out of the cracks – ruins the grouting!"

"And you'd know, Peck!" came the voice of the man to the boy's left. It was dripping with scorn and simmering anger.

"Well yeah, I would actually!" The response was bland but fearless and Robby took a shred of strength from it.

"Quite the celebrity fucken janitor, aren't you?"

Robby felt the hands tighten around him once more as the knee in his back moved away. He was picked up and pulled to the side, to be held firmly against the wall, the pipe from the shower pressing painfully into his back. He blinked his eyes to still his wavy vision and the scene settled into focus around him.

He was being held by Leroy and Ali, one on his left, one his right. Their hands were digging into the flesh of his forearms but their attention was concentrated, like his, on the action in front of them. Standing arrogantly there was Rumba; the leader of this particular pack of wolves. His eyes were flashing their anger and Robby sensed the promise of physical action as the big brute's muscles flexed dangerously beneath his ebony skin. Flanking him were Tolly and Terps, his faithful guard dogs, both proudly sporting the prohibited red bandanas decorated with a black dog shape around their left biceps that pronounced them as members of their gang - the Brotherhood of the Black Coyotes. Robby looked past these brainless lumps of testosteronely charged tarmacadam to the door where a very different figure stood.

Templeton Peck was leaning languidly on the handle of his mop. He was dressed in prison fatigues like everyone else except on him they appeared perfectly cut and tailored as if made especially for him. In fact he had the air of someone who had just attended a star-studded Hollywood premier, not finished cleaning a prison bathroom! His silver flecked hair was perfectly precise around handsome, mature features, the lines of which were now slightly more pronounced as they crumpled in irritation. His blue eyes were shining brilliantly with an emotion that Robby found it hard to identify.

Peck sighed deeply. "Look, I don't want any trouble," he began, stepping forward with a sureness that contradicted his words.

"Then you should keep your big mouth shut!" Rumba snapped bristling with threat and moving closer to Peck. "Since you butted in maybe we should make use of your snow white ass as well as the little shit! I hear you take it pretty well for an old queer!"

Rumba moved menacingly forward, his hands coming up and contracting into fists as his eyes fixed on his foe. So fixed were they in fact that he lurched straight on to the end of the mop that Peck was suddenly wielding in front of him like a medieval pikeman! Rumba let out a yelp of surprise which soon deepened into a growl of pain as Peck continued to ram his weapon deep into the soft underbelly area.

There were gasps of surprise and Robby felt the arms around him loosen, giving him the chance he needed. In one fluid motion he slipped loose, threw a blow into Leroy's wobbly gut, pulled up his pants and then turned to take on Ali who was still static with shock over the unforeseen turn of events.

It was a bloody but quick fight. After jamming the mop into Rumba, Peck moved with lightening speed that belied his age, taking out Tolly with quick but well-placed blows to his head and Terps with a precise knee to his privates. Robby landed a few blows on Ali who, once released from his surprise, fought back well, bloodying Robby's nose before the younger man could land a final conscious-shattering fist to Ali's head sending him crashing to the floor, blood running to join that from the others to create an ensanguined river of red meandering lazily along the once pristine drain. Robby fell to his knees, his hand trying impotently to dab away the blood that was erupting from his nose. He gulped in breaths as his sweating body sought to relax following its gruesome experience and his foggy brain looked for explanation.

"Shit," he heard Peck mutter. "I knew I'd end up having to clean this place again!"

He smirked then and turned to see Peck was in a similar position to him; on his knees, hands pressed firmly to ease the pain from the blows he had taken to his belly and back, his forehead resting on the tiles. As Robby watched Peck spat out a mouthful of blood and groaned. "Not another cap gone!" he whined. "And no decent dentist is sight!"

"You all right, Peck?" Robby asked.

Bright eyes lifted to meet his then and a bruised face cracked into a beautiful but bloody smile. "Sure," Peck ran his hand along his mouth to dab at the blood leaking from his split lip. "And you kid?"

Robby nodded. "Fine. Why'd you help me?" he asked.

Peck sighed and slowly eased his throbbing body up and around so he was sitting perched on the lip of the showers. He raised his hands expansively. "I hate it when people dirty what I just cleaned up!" he said with feigned dejection.

Robby shook his head and looked around at the destruction around them. "Gonna be in trouble," he said wistfully.

Peck sighed again. "I guess," he agreed, slowly climbing to his feet and reaching out a supportive hand toward Robby. "Won't be the first time!"

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

"What the hell is going on, Peck?"

"Fell out of bed."

"You fell out of bed! And you Blake?"

"I tripped in the shower."

The warden threw his hands in the air with frustration. "What is it with everybody's balance these days? You both know the rules; at Folsom State Prison violence is unacceptable and I hold you both personally responsible for your actions." He shook his head. "How long before your parole, Peck?"

"Nine days."

"You know if your part in this incident is reported, your parole could be revoked?"

For the first time Peck's eyes came down from the point on the wall behind the warden that they had found so interesting and looked straight at the figure of authority. "Bit harsh for falling out of bed," he mused. Blake could not completely stifle his chuckle.

The warden sighed, threw his pen on to the desk in front of him and steepled his hands. He took on the aspect of a long-suffering and frustrated schoolmaster. "I have five men in the infirmary, one who is going to have to be air-lifted to ER because he has a ruptured spleen, caused by a mop handle of all things. All of them known members of the Black Coyotes," His voice was tired. "And you two white boys look like you've gone twelve rounds with Clubber Lang!"

"Clubber who?" Robby asked innocently.

The warden shook his head and ignored Peck's smirk as he breathed. "Never mind." He glared at the two prisoners before him; Peck stood to perfect attention but Blake was slouched with the confidence of disrespect. "I hope I don't have the start of a race war here, do I boys?"

There was a long deep silence then, punctuated only by the sounds filtering through the office's open window from the exercise yard beyond; somebody was whistling out of tune, the burble of quiet conversations and every so often the thumping bounce of a ball as an impromptu game of basketball ensued. A loud cheer obviously brought about by the end of the game seemed to bring the warden back to the present.

"Am I wasting my time here?" he asked. "Peck?"

"I fell out of bed."

"Blake?"

"I slipped in the shower."

The warden sighed again. "Very well," he said. "Blake, get out of here – all your privileges are suspended for four weeks! My men will be watching you very closely."

After the younger man had left, the warden stood up and moved around the desk. Peck remained resolutely motionless, eyes back to the spot on the wall, his body comfortable in this pose from long ago.

"I thought we had a deal, Peck, remember?" the warden sniffed from behind him.

"A deal?"

"You've got nine days to go, just nine lousy days and then you're out of my hair!" Peck rolled his eyes but decided not to mention the warden's shining, bald palate at this particular moment. "When I was told you were coming here, I knew you'd be trouble." The warden continued. "I read your file," he indicated the dog-eared taupe coloured folder that was so stuffed full of documentation it bulged corpulentlyon the desk in front of him.

"Gee," Peck whistled through his teeth. "Haven't they computerised that stuff yet? You should be careful it looks heavy – you don't want to put your back out lifting it!"

"Shut it!" The warden spat allowing his normally well controlled anger to get the upper hand for an unguarded moment. He let out a long breath, forced himself to relax and moved back to slump wearily into his chair. "What the hell are you doing, Peck?" he asked finally. "Nine days isn't long, not long to keep your nose clean. Hell, you've managed well over three months already. Nine days left out of a 120 day sentence. Why jeopardise it all and over a selfish piece of trash like Robby Blake. Man, he wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire unless you could prove a direct advantage for him. You are too old for this man!"

The piece of wall was infinitely interesting to Peck once more and he continued to stare at it as the thought ran around his head that he had been chewed out by better men than this. And only one had had enough style and charisma to get him to change his ways. The warden, though he meant well and Peck had found him to be an honest caring man, was no-where close!

"You're a fool, Peck. You are never gonna beat the system – it eats you up and spits you out. The time for lone mavericks like you is long gone; give it up. Tell me what really happened in the shower and I can fill this damn form in, not mention your involvement and we can all forget about I – in nine days you'll be out of here forever!" The warden was holding his pen poised over the paper hopefully.

Peck bit his lip as if considering the proposal. "Something happened in the shower?" he said finally. "Damn! I'd just cleaned in there as well!"

The warden snorted in annoyance. His eyes were suddenly hard. "I wouldn't be so sure I was getting out in nine days, Peck, if I were you – I'm going to have to consider whether I put in a recommendation for your parole to be revoked. And furthermore, to aid me in my decision, I am sending you for psychiatric evaluation – there must be something wrong with your head!"

"My head?" Peck repeated looking worried. "Must have been when I fell out of bed. Jeez, do you think I should sue the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation?"

"Get out!" the warden spat jadedly.

Peck turned to leave but then hesitated and turned back to the man who was now sitting with his elbows on the desk, head in hands. "You know," he drawled. The warden lifted red rimmed eyes with just a hint of hope back up to look at Peck. "Between you and me, I don't think you should make any deals with people in here – didn't they teach you that at prison management school? You'll only be disappointed in the end – there are some real conmen in here, you know!"

The warden snorted and shook his head slowly. "Get out!" he repeated even more wearily than before. As the door slammed disrespectfully loud behind the retreating prisoner, he looked at the incident form on his desk, sighed and began to fill it in.

* * *

"What do you mean your parole might be revoked?" Murdock pouted. "I got the party organised, I baked the cake, I…"

"It's given for good behaviour," Peck cut across his rant impatiently.

Murdock blinked. "And?"

"I guess I've been a bad boy," Peck informed him, finding himself unable to meet the other man's hurt stare. He sighed, looked down at his hands, fiddled nervously but he sensed Murdock still had him skewered by soulful eyes, so he continued. "There was a fight in the showers…."

"Face!"

"I didn't start it!"

"But you sure finished it!"

Peck looked up then, his eyes wide and beseeching, his tongue ran across his lips nervously and Murdock felt the familiar melting sensation deep inside that was always a direct result of being skewered by those searching blue eyes. "There was some kid," Peck perceived it too and, never one to miss an opportunity, pressed home his advantage. "They were gonna…. with him and in the showers too. You know that's a sore point with me. Anyway he's OK – didn't deserve that for sure. Maybe if somebody had just taken the time to give him a little support, a little friendship, he would have never gotten in here in the first place. You know what I mean."

Murdock regarded his friend, eyes sparking with empathy. – how could he stay angry with this man for long? "Face," he said softly. "You can't save all the little, lost orphans in the world."

"It wasn't right, Murdock," Peck said softly. "I couldn't let it happen; not when I could stop it." He shivered and Murdock knew he was remembering other times from his long gone youth when he had suffered similarly and there had been no-one to step in and save him.

Murdock gulped and reached out to take hold of Peck's hands where they rested on the table. "I know, babe," he whispered softly. "So you put yourself on the line. I wouldn't expect anything less from you but where does it leave me? I'm hanging by a thread here. I need you now, Face. I don't know if I can wait another month. Sometimes I think I should rob a bank just to get in here, so I could be with you!"

Peck smiled sadly. "Or a train."

"Shush! I'm through that phase now," Murdock replied. "I haven't watched Butch and Sundance for over two weeks now." He snorted. "Got to admit, still got a tiny, weenie craving though!"

Peck squeezed the other man's hands tightly. "I got a massive, all-engulfing craving," he disclosed with a lusty sigh.

They were silent for a while, neither being able to find anything to say since Peck had voiced the real issue between them. A guard ambled past, hesitated but said nothing as he moved away.

With a sad smile Peck withdrew his hands and began to fiddle with the collar of his denim shirt. "Anyway I need a few tips," he said finally.

Murdock cocked his head in interest. "On what?"

"Warden has recommended me for a psyche assessment. No doubt it'll be by some bald, sweaty old man in a grey suit!"

"You; a psyche assessment!" Murdock howled so loudly he drew the attention of the other occupants of the room, who paused in their murmured conversations to regard the leather jacketed man curiously. "About time too!" He continued more quietly after having noted Peck's warning look. "Man, I have said you've been madder than me for years!"

"So what do I do?"

"What do you mean, what do I do?"

"How do I play it, what line do I take? The warden's gonna use the conclusions to decide about my parole revocation."

Murdock smirked and sat back in his rickety chair. "Well, I just don't believe it! Ultra cool, ultra confident Faceman wouldn't be asking the advice of little old me about running a con, would he?"

"Come on, Murdock!" Peck said. "You've had more experience than me in this sort of thing. I don't want to say anything that might be misconstrued, that they might take the wrong way." He was fidgeting nervously.

Murdock smiled imperiously. "Just what are you afraid of Face? That you might turn out to be as nutty as a Snickers bar?"

"Of course not!" Peck snapped back too quickly. "It's just… it's just…." He stopped, eyes wide, panicked even.

Murdock hesitated, regarded him, noting the consternation in the other, worrying about its source – why should Face be so freaked out by a simple psyche assessment? Hell, Murdock could do them standing on his head, with his fingers in his ears watching Woody Woodpecker! But then again he had had years of practise whereas Face had not. Face, in fact, had been very careful down the years to ensure he was never in a position where he would have to reveal any intimate thing that he did not want to. Murdock rated himself as most fortunate to be taken into that very tightly controlled confidence; he was Face's best friend as well as his lover. They had known each other for thirty years and if Face had come to understand the nuances of Murdock's particular psyche it was true to say that the talent was reciprocated. Nobody knew Face as well as Murdock did and nobody had been allowed to get so close to the conman as the pilot had. Nobody had seen the vulnerable interior hidden so deep below the brash shallow, beautiful packing, not like Murdock had. He knew how Peck reacted, how he coped, how he avoided and ignored his emotion, fighting to appear shallow and bland so that no one would bother to look deeper. Always Murdock could sense his friend's disquiet and his fears. Sitting in the visiting area of this prison he sensed them loud and clear.

"The dreams," he said softly. "You're dreaming again."

Peck shuddered as if he'd been physically struck. Not knowing how to respond to the exposure of a perceived weakness except as he always had, he lied. "No, I'm not." Murdock snorted dismissively, so Peck continued. "I just don't want somebody delving into my past," he chuckled, the sound so brittle it did nothing to hide his discomfort. "I'm a private sort of guy."

"Tell me, Face," Murdock said firmly. "What is it? What are you hiding this time? What are you afraid of?"

Peck shook his head. He opened his mouth to talk, closed it again. "What if …." He began but the discordant ring of the bell that signalled the end of visiting interrupted his words and he stopped, unable to subdue a sigh of relief. "God is it two thirty already?" the metallic chuckle was back, along with the superficial smile. "Doesn't time fly when you're having fun?"

Murdock regarded him with a pained expression. "You were always one blessed son of a bitch, Templeton Peck," he muttered. "If we're talking clichés how about; saved by the bell!"

Peck stood up. "I gotta go Murdock," he said softly, brushing his hands down his pants to extenuate the non- existence creases there.

Murdock nodded. "You look after yourself, pal No more fighting – I want you back with me real soon. And we got to talk properly." He stood and reached across to run his hand down Peck's bruised cheek. "You are too pretty for prison," he said.

Peck smiled bravely. "Lucky that I'm too clever then too!"

"I mean it, Face." Murdock was serious. "Don't upset anybody else. And tell the shrink the truth – maybe he'll be able to help you. Dr Richter is one of the best friends I ever had."

Peck snorted and rolled his eyes sceptically. "See you," he said softly and then he moved away to join the line waiting to go back into the main building. Murdock watched him minutely, his eyes drinking in every second as he always did at this point. He was filling his memory with a vision; a vision he prayed would sustain him through the long, lonely days to come. "See you too, buddy," he whispered softly. "Look after yourself."

As the prisoners made their way through the mess area, Peck felt a presence too close behind him.

"Peck!" a voice hissed in his ear. "You screwed up in the showers big time. You may think you're a big shot cos you've had your goddamn white face on a few papers but you nothing in here. From the 'A team' to the 'gay team', nothing 'cept a sad old ass bandit and the brothers are gonna make you pay!"

The fist was hard and perfectly placed into Peck's kidneys. He let out a long groan that started in surprise but ended in pain as his legs crumpled and he fell to his knees.

"Special Forces trained you is, but man, that was a long time ago. You old and slow now and you can't watch your back forever. You know how it works, you know there an order in this place – you know the rules, man! Step outside of 'em; defy the Brotherhood and you will be punished!"

A fist smashed into the side of Peck's face. His closing eyes noted the flash of violent red on black as he fell forward onto the cold stone floor as unconsciousness took him.

* * *

TBC 


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

"Do you fall out of bed often?"

Peck let out a lecherous chuckle. "I normally prefer to fall 'in' bed," he replied. "Especially with a beautiful woman!"

Judy Bowcott regarded him with eyebrows raised. It was a hot day and the warm breeze was blowing into the small cramped room in which they sat. How she longed for a little A/C, a fan even but such luxuries were off limits – this was a prison after all!

The real reason she felt hot and stifled was her complete lack of progress with her newest interviewee. It never ceased to amaze her that such sexist dinosaurs continued to exist in the world. God this guy had gotten stuck in the 1980s somehow and all the subsequent progress of the feminist movement seemed to have past him by. It was a shame really because physically he had been a very attractive man, and she could see that he had aged well too, but every time he opened his mouth he uttered a totally un-politically correct statement. How arrogant of him to think that she would in any way be interested in a lecherous old fool like him!

She had suspected it when she had read through his files previously, her reservations had only increased when she saw the knowing light twinkle in his eye as she had entered the room earlier. And ever since then, every single answer to her questions had been steeped in double entendre and sexual undercurrent. She regarded him now, keeping her voice studiously neutral and wondered if he had any notion of just how pathetic she found him!

She guessed not, from the continuing twinkle in his eyes, to the over-confident smile of his lips – he seemed to be enjoying himself. She bit down the urge to vomit and schooled herself that she should be professional about this. So the guy was an asshole; most of them were, that shouldn't interfere with her job; she was here to do a psychological assessment and that's what she would do! Still he wasn't making it any easier for her by a full on flirting technique which may have worked on her mother twenty years ago but was not appreciated by Judy in the twenty first century.

She jotted down a few notes, more to delay the next question and his ribald response to it than from any need to express her thoughts on paper.

"I didn't realise they let pretty ladies like you in to do stuff like this," he said.

She stifled down the cringe his words had brought her, forcing away the bitter retort that sparked in her brain about not being a lady and why should her physical appearance influence which job she chose to do, instead she made herself respond calmly. "Why would you think that?"

"Well," he said leaning forward, his eyebrows scrunching suggestively. "There are a lot of men starved of a woman's company in here. Being alone with a beautiful girl like you, who knows where a man's sex drive might take him? And her?"

She fixed him with a stern stare, wondering if this wasn't all some big joke, was this guy setting her up? But she could detect no irony in him, he seemed completely sincere. "I am a black belt in karate; I can handle myself," she said. "Besides, there is a guard just outside the door, and he could hear my scream."

"Black belt," he repeated nodding, seemingly impressed. "He would hear your scream but would he hear your moans of passion and ecstasy?" His eyebrows went skywards once more.

She stared at him eyes wide as the scarlet anger raged through her. She had been hanging on to her temper all afternoon but now she could control it no longer. She did not care, she had heard enough. "What did you say?" she growled.

"Oh come on, dear," he said. "I saw the way you looked at me when you walked in. You have been sending me the signs all afternoon and like every good soldier I am famed for reading signals. I'm a celebrity, a star – I can tell that you want it from me, and I am more than willing to deliver. You come flouncing in here, wearing next to nothing, flicking your long blonde hair at me and blinking those eyes. Hell darling, I'm a man not a monk!"

She stood up in a rush of fury, the scrape of the chair on the floor a discordant accompaniment to the anger that flashed through her. "How dare you!" she spat. "You arrogant, conceited neandethal! Do you have any idea of how stupid you sound!"

"Come on girl," Peck was standing too. "I know you want it!"

"Guard!" Judy shouted. "Guard!"

The door swung open and the guard, Jeffers, stuck his head round the door. "Can I help you any, Miss?" he asked.

Judy threw her notes into her briefcase and thundered towards the door. "You sexist prick!" she shouted over her shoulder at Peck as she retreated. "What century do you live in – dinosaur!"

Peck rolled his eyes and sat back down again. Jeffers chuckled. "I thought you were supposed to be a ladies' man," he said.

"Officer, you weren't listening at the door were you?" Peck said in mock indignation.

"That's my job," Jeffers pulled two cigars out of his pocket and offered one to Peck. "Got to protect the psychologists from sexual predator inmates like you!"

"Arrh, don't mind if I do," Peck breathed accepting the cigar. "Although I hope this isn't a violation of policy that the warden will take into account when he considers my parole." He nodded toward the 'no smoking' sign that silently shouted from the wall above the door.

"Damn stupid policy!" Jeffers shook his head. "Reckon I owe you one, Peck. You're a brave man, coming out with that stuff in this day and age," Jeffers said as he leaned across to light it. "Haven't had such a laugh in a long while – you got her underwear in some mighty twist, serves her right with such high and mighty ideas! "

Peck blew out a mouthful of smoke, his face beaming with an appreciating smile. "I did, didn't I? Fair play though she held on to her professional detachment longer than I thought she would. There was a point when I thought she realised that I wasn't being entirely serious but then her sense of humour seemed to self destruct and she was fair game. I guess I feel a little sorry for her, though."

Jeffers chortled. "Don't reckon she'll be coming to follow-up her assessment real soon!"

Peck raised his cigar. "Colonel Hannibal Smith I salute you!" he said. "You taught me that attack is sometimes the best form of defence!"

Jeffers hooted. "Ain't it the other way round?"

"Not in my case," Peck replied. "Certainly not in my case. Now, may I be allowed to return to my cell. If I am not very much mistaken I am due a new copy of my favourite publication – Feminism Today and I really do like to read it as soon as I can!"

Jeffers guffawed. "You're always entertaining, Peck, good value!" he said as he moved to open the door. "Gonna miss you when they let you out. They don't make 'em like you any more!"

* * *

"You did the right thing, kid," Hannibal's familiar voice came from close by and if Peck closed his eyes he could see the grey haired man beaming beside him. "You can't give anything away, not about me. People like psychologists would not understand, trust me on this."

Peck drew in a long breath. "I just didn't like giving her a hard time – she must have thought I was such a jerk."

"Doesn't matter, Face. You achieved what we needed, kept our secret safe."

Peck was sitting on his bed, taking advantage of the time to reflect on what had happened and to try to assess what he needed to do. He had been in Folsom State Prison for the last 118 days. As he had been quick to inform the warden, the day of the fight in the showers, he had had only nine days left of the sentence the Parole Revocation Hearing had given him, following his arrest after he turned himself in the day after the Christening.

He let his mind wonder back to the day when the hearing panel had decided there was 'a preponderance level of evidence to show good cause that he, Templeton Peck, had violated a condition of parole'. He had been lucky; his attorney had informed him that he could have been returned to custody for 12 months. But on hearing the Board proclaim his sentence of 120 days, Peck had felt his stomach lurch and his resolve weaken. One hundred and twenty days in a penal institution, one hundred and twenty days denied his freedom, one hundred and twenty days at the mercy of the authorities and the inmates but worse of all one hundred and twenty days without Murdock! He had suddenly felt very weak and cursed himself for turning himself in.

But the lack of belief had not lasted long. Peck had survived thus far by taking all that life had to throw at him and enduring it. He was not about to change that strategy now. He was streetwise and clever; he knew he could survive the time if he applied himself appropriately and so that was precisely what he had done. In the first 111 days he had played the game, keeping his nose clean, biting back the wise retorts that threatened to spring from his mouth, and fighting but only when he was forced to in order to prove his reputation was well-earned and to make the point he was off limits to anyone that might come sniffing. He had worked hard at keeping out of the power politics of the gangs that unofficially ran the prison. He had, as he had promised the warden, been a model prisoner and when he came before the Parole Hearing the Board had little option but to agree his return to society after his sentence was served.

But that had changed when he had made the decision to go up against the Black Coyotes in the shower. He had done it secure in the knowledge that in lifting his head above the parapet he was risking a lot more than just a simple beating and that had proved to be the case. Now his parole was in doubt and he had come to the notice of the black brotherhood, things were going to get exciting!

Still, as he had told Murdock, he did not regret his actions. Robby Blake was a smart-assed, over-confident kid sure, but Peck didn't see that as a problem. In fact Peck saw definite potential in the boy and even if he hadn't, put in the same situation again he would make the same choice. Hell that was what he did – what the Colonel had taught him!

He did, however, regret his behaviour with Judy Bowcott. Deep down he had always wanted to be loved, with a natural desire to please especially where women were concerned. He still remembered the look of sheer hatred she had thrown at him as she exited the room and it crucified him. He wished it hadn't been necessary to behave in that way but he had simply been defending himself. Through his prison sentence, in his times of extreme loneliness and doubt, he had begun to hear Hannibal more and more. What had first manifested itself under the influence of Lorelei's drugs had become a daily occurrence. A habit that Peck had begun to cling to so desperately that he refused to contemplate it further. For him it was simple; Hannibal was with him, he embodied the strength that Peck could not find in himself, he supported him, he got him through and it was enough.

But deep inside Peck worried about the phenomenon and feared its exposure. That was why he had been so unnerved by the thought of a psychological assessment and why he had behaved in the way he had to Ms Bowcott. Sure enough it had worked; she had never even gotten close to peeling away his layers of mystery, choosing to see only the shallowness he served up for her. And Hannibal remained with him, undetected and giving him the strength to survive. But it was a dangerous place to be; the dreams were back and Peck knew he often woke his cellmate as he thrashed about in the darkness. It was only a matter of time before somebody discovered his secret.

"For how long?" he voiced his worry now. "You're dead and gone, Hannibal! I shouldn't be able to see you, talk to you…"

"Who are you talking to?" Robby Blake's handsome face was puzzled as he hovered on the lip of the entrance to Peck's cell.

Goddamn it! Peck cursed himself – all that time and energy trying to keep it secret and he revealed it by simply not keeping his defences up. Jesus, how the hell could he be so stupid? Pushing the panic away he forced his features into its usual mundane mask. "What?" feigning innocence came naturally to Peck as he indicated that the boy should enter.

Hands thrust nonchalantly in his pockets Blake stepped inside. "You were talking to somebody," he pressed.

"Who me?"

Blake shrugged, looked around the empty cell suspiciously. "Guess it must be voices from outside," he said uncertainly.

Peck nodded. "There's always somebody talking in this goddamn overcrowded place."

Blake smirked. "I blame all those damn parole jumpers that they drag back here to take up the space us proper criminals should have."

Peck rolled his eyes. "Well I'll give up the space I'm taking up in here anytime for a 'proper' criminal, no sweat!"

"Wouldn't we all?" Blake laughed. "How you doing, man? You heard about your parole yet?"

"Nope, but I'm a firm believer in being positive – no news is good news." Peck frowned slightly. "Hope they tell me soon though – I got such a lot to pack!"

"I'm sorry, Peck," Blake's eyes were wide. "I didn't mean to screw it up for you. I still don't see why you did it and don't give me that bullshit about your cleaning!"

Peck snorted. "Let's just say that I know how you felt; I've been to that place, Robby. It's not a good place to be and I wouldn't want anyone to suffer it if I could stop it."

"You're quite a guy, Peck. Is it true what they say about you being some sort of vigilante?"

Peck smiled. "Hell no – you know what crap gets around in prison. I'm just a conman who ran one too many cons. Never meant to end up here but looking back I guess here is the only place I was bound to end up."

Blake looked uncomfortable but nervously licking his lips, he asked, "That guy that comes to visit you. Is he… is he your partner?"

"Why do you ask?" Peck snorted and ran his hand through his hair; he really didn't want to discuss this at anytime but especially not now. His eyes were burningly intense as he gazed at the younger man shuffling nervously before him. "I didn't help you in the shower so I could have your pretty ass instead of the Coyotes if that's what is worrying you, Robby."

"No," Blake answered too effusively. Then he shrugged and forced indifference into every part of his body. "I'm not worried about that and it's none of my business, I know. I'm just trying to understand."

Peck blinked as he looked away. Blake controlled the shudder that threatened to flash through him as if the temperature was suddenly chilled by ten degrees. "There's nothing to understand," Peck shrugged ineffectively. "I just made a lot of mistakes in my life and I'm trying to sort them out, that's all."

"But…"

"Oh man, what a pitiful confession!" Rumba's deep voice cut across Blake's higher pitched one.

Suddenly the cell was vastly overcrowded as the Black Coyotes filed dutifully into it behind their leader. Both Peck and Blake stepped backwards away from the over-muscled specimens bearing down on them. Unfortunately there was only so far the two of them could move until they were backed up against the hard granite rock of the outer cell wall.

Then there was no where further for them to retreat…..

* * *

TBC 


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4**

"Oh what a pitiful confession!" Rumba's deep voice cut across Blake's higher pitched one.

Suddenly the cell was vastly overcrowded as the Black Coyotes filed dutifully into it behind their leader. Both Peck and Blake stepped backwards away from the over-muscled specimens bearing down on them. Unfortunately there was only so far the two of them could move until they were backed up against the hard granite rock of the outer cell wall.

"What, am I having a party or something?" Peck muttered.

"Blake, get your pretty little white ass out of here. We'll see to you later!" Rumba spat.

"I ain't going," Robby replied bravely. "I ain't leaving Peck with you!"

Rumba turned his attention from Peck to face the kid. "Oh it's gonna be so fine when I finally get to crush you little boy, when I get that smart mouth to beg me, when I show you what trash you are and how you were born to be my bitch!"

"That's enough!" Peck stood up and moved to stand between the two glowering men. "Go Robby – there's nothing you can do here."

"But…" Blake began to argue.

"Go," Peck responded firmly. "The gentlemen just want to talk to me, isn't that right, Rumba?"

Rumba cracked a broad grin, his white teeth beaming brightly in his dark face. "Of course, talk and then some!"

Blake sighed. "If you…"

"Enough, Robby, go!" Peck ordered. With a sniff and a last look over his shoulder Blake reluctantly left the cell.

Peck sighed. "Well gentlemen, what can I do for you? I'm afraid I can't offer you martini – I'm still waiting for my order."

"Very funny, Peck!" Rumba spat as Leroy moved forward, clutched hold of Peck by the collar of his shirt, and used his motion to propel them both backwards until Peck's head hit the hard cell wall with a dull thud. Peck groaned as stars leapt into his vision.

"You're real smooth, Peck!" Rumba spat. "But nobody puts me in a hospital without paying for it." He was standing right next to Leroy and as he spoke each word the other Coyote banged Peck's head into the wall.

"Oh, that's right," Peck squeaked through the constriction of his windpipe by the massive hand and the growing fuzziness of his vision. "Jeez I wanted to apologise. I just don't know what came over me with that mop – don't know my own strength, I guess! How are you feeling, Rumba?"

"Sore, but not as sore as you're gonna be!" Rumba promised. He turned to the rest of his men. "Wreck the place boys!"

Peck stood pinned to the wall, fighting for each breath as the Black Coyotes tore the contents of the cell apart. When they were done Rumba turned back to him, a superior smile across his big lips. "You really upset me, Peck, I thought you were clever. I thought you understood your place in this world. You dissed me real bad. You gonna pay."

His fist was hard and fast and straight into Peck's gut as Leroy stepped slightly to the side without releasing his grip. The breath groaned out of Peck as he sagged forward.

"Look, can't we talk about this, guys!" he tried lifting his head back up weakly.

Rumba's smile was evil. "Got no time to talk, Peck. You see I just found out the warden is gonna confirm your parole. You're gonna be out of here and that makes me sad cos I don't want you leaving until you understand what pain you caused me. Wouldn't look good on the Brotherhood if I were to let you get away, people might think we was going soft, people might try the same thing and I don't want no more mops in my belly!"

"I'll make a deal with you then. I won't tell a soul, my lips are sealed, honest Rumba there's no need for…" A second blow to the same place stopped Peck and his sentence dissolved into a moan of pain.

"There's a need, Peck! Don't play dumb with me; you know exactly how it works, just like I do! Get him!"

The Black Coyotes fell on Peck then in a flurry of kicks and punches. Leroy held him up to be beaten for a while and then let him go, so Peck fell to the floor as the beating continued. He curled up into as small a ball as possible, his hands protecting his head and resolved to simply endure. In his head Hannibal's voice was firm. "Hold on, Lieutenant, hold on!"

Eventually it was over and Rumba awkwardly bent down, his hand gingerly resting on the recently wound from his operation to remove his ruptured spleen in his belly. "That's just for starters, Peck. My Brothers are everywhere and you can get away from me, but you can't get away from the Black Coyotes! We will have you, you won't know when and you won't know where but we will hunt you down; your life ain't worth shit; you are gonna die! People have to know they cannot stand against us! Our time is coming!" With that he stalked out of the cell with his men, leaving the beaten figure still curled on the floor, panting painfully.

"Melodramatic bastard!" Peck groaned faintly.

"You OK?" Robby Blake had kept a watchful eye out and as soon as he saw the Black Coyotes leave Peck's cell, he returned. He bent down to offer his hand to Peck who groaned weakly but accepted it and used it to lever himself up. He struggled forward to slump on to his bed, his left hand clutching at his stomach.

"To tell the truth, I have felt better," he muttered his head slouching forwards to be held up by his right hand.

"You wanna go to the infirmary?" Robby asked. Peck shook his head, trying to ignore the further pain it brought him. "What did they want?" Blake asked.

"They came to tell me I got my parole – I'm leaving day after tomorrow, I guess."

Blake rolled his eyes. "How nice of them to think of you when they came by such information." He moved to the sink, wet a cloth and passed it to Peck who wiped his face with it.

"Yeah, they just couldn't wait to rush over here and tell me," Peck moaned. "And with a promise that they aren't going to forget me either, too. Apparently they have friends outside able to pass on their best wishes whenever they need to."

"How touching," Blake mused.

Peck sighed. "I seem to have upset them," he said. "Can't imagine how!" Slowly he eased his legs up on to the bed and turned around to lie down. "I think I just need to rest," he said weakly.

Robby nodded and turned to leave. "Sure, but if you need anything, let me know."

"Robby," Peck called after him. "Look after yourself – I think they're pretty pissed at you too!"

Blake smiled. "They gotta catch me first! And it won't be long until I'm following you out of here too. I got a Parole Board at the end of the month."

"Don't screw it up," Peck breathed. He wanted to say more, to caution the kid further but an overwhelming wave of exhaustion washed through him. He knew his faculties were closing down and he could do nothing but give in to oblivion.

* * *

Folsom State Prison is California's second oldest prison; it primarily houses Level II and Level III inmates. Around the prison a walled perimeter encompasses five general population cell blocks and an Administrative Segregation Unit. This portion of the prison includes one of the state's best-known prison industries, the license plate factory. The prison's location was selected due to an unlimited amount of native stone which was used to build it initially. Also the American River offered ample water and formed a natural boundary for the prison. As one of the nation's first maximum prisons, Folsom received its first forty four inmates on July 26, 1880. They were transferred by boat and train from San Quentin.

Murdock had found out this information one day he had come to visit Peck. He had brought with him Mo and her two boys and as the regulations stated that an inmate could only receive three visitors at any one time, Murdock had allowed the others to go in first while he visited the Folsom Museum located near the entrance of the prison. Run by volunteers, the museum contained documents and artefacts from throughout Folsom's long and colourful history and the pilot found it both interesting and horrifying. Folsom State Prison gained the reputation of being violent and bloody in its early days. Prior to the completion of its granite wall in the 1920s, the prison witnessed numerous escapes; the first one occurring in 1880. The prisoners' attempts to escape had been desperate and frequent and many had not survived their frantic flight for freedom.

Murdock felt a shudder freeze along his spine when he learnt of such history. He knew Face could look after himself but still he didn't want him anywhere near a place that echoed with the ghosts of so many lost souls – Face had enough baggage of his own!

Murdock remembered the stories now as he pulled into the parking lot and parked at the far left-hand side as directed. Today was the day that Folsom State Prison could be assigned to the back of his mind, along with all the other places he had visited in his life that he had no intention of visiting again. This was the last time he would make the drive up to Sacramento, the last time he would pull into the lot, make his way to the gates, allow himself to be searched by the sweaty but polite guards, and enter the institution.

Because today was the day that his Faceyman was coming out!

He allowed himself a contented whistle as he made his way to the gates. He didn't mind waiting in the stifling outer office; he knew bureaucratic formalities always took time but the wait did serve to quicken his heart and kindle his excitement so that when Peck finally exited through the door, an almost bashful look on his fine features and small bag stuffed under his arm, the pilot let out a whoop of pure exhilaration.

"Faceyman!" he cried. "Where you been all my life?" As he drew close he noted the swelling and bruises on Peck's face. "Been fighting again?"

Peck smiled and pointedly ignored the question. "Hi, Murdock. Thanks for coming!"

"Give me that!" Murdock ordered moving in close to relieve Peck of his carryall. As he did so he whispered in the other man's ear. "I haven't yet – but I aim too as soon as I can get my hands on your delectable butt!"

Peck let out a high pitched chuckle but then his features hardened. "Come on; let's get out of here before they change their minds!" He threw a slightly nervous glance over his shoulder.

"That a possibility?" Murdock asked as he nodded to the guards and moved to open the door.

"You never know." Peck hesitated on the verge of the door, his features suddenly lacking in their normal confidence. "Hell of a big world out there."

Murdock threw a supportive arm around the others shoulder. "You bet," he encouraged. "And it's waiting for us to explore together! How'd your psyche assessment go?" he asked trying to distract his friend as they finally moved forward.

Peck gulped. "OK," he said, allowing himself to be eased gently forward while secretly revelling in the other man's touch.

"What did he say?"

"I think the words she used were 'arrogant, conceited neandethal'

and 'sexist prick'!"

"She?" Murdock stopped and regarded the other man. "That's not the normal response you get from the fairer sex, Face!"

Peck snorted. "No, I must be losing my touch!" he answered with a smile that was so enigmatically stunning that it caused Murdock's heart to flip in his chest. "You didn't bring the Viper?" Peck changed the subject as he realised which car they were making their way to.

Murdock drew in a deep breath and snorted it out nosily. "You are something else!" he muttered. Then deciding not to pursue his enquiries at the current time he smiled. "No, left her in the garage, safe and sound for you to play with when you get home."

Peck nodded and opened the door to the conservative station wagon Murdock had brought. He settled himself into the passenger seat and waited while Murdock dumped the bag into the trunk and then started it up.

After a few minutes travelling, Peck cleared his throat. "I know I haven't been out in a while, Murdock," he said. "But I'm sure my sense of direction isn't shot. Aren't we going the wrong way? Isn't this east?"

Murdock rolled his eyes. "Sure is!"

"But LA is the other way!"

"Uh-huh!"

Peck ran his hand through his hair. "I got to ring my Parole Officer when I get home, Murdock! I haven't got time for any of your games."

The pilot pouted. "Sure you have, Face. You've had 120 days away from my games – reckon you owe me some."

"But…"

"No," Murdock's voice was hard as the granite wall they had just driven away from. "We got plenty of time. You don't have to phone in until tomorrow morning – I checked. And don't be getting so paranoid about this parole gig – I'll keep you right. Besides when I get you home everyone is gonna be there, and I wanted you for myself, just for a while." He sniffed. "Lake Tahoe is nice this time of year."

"Lake Tahoe!" Peck's eyes were wide as Murdock fluttered his at him. But then the conman nodded his head slowly and his face broke into a wide grin. "Oh, I get it," he breathed. "Never knew you were into water sports though." He relaxed back into his seat.

"That depends of your definition of water sport, does it not?" Murdock leered.

Peck let out a chuckle in response and Murdock turned to look at him. "I missed that, Face," he said softly. "I missed you laughing so very much!"

* * *

TBC 


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5**

"For every one you pull out another six will grow, you know," Murdock drawled.

"Really?" Peck pulled a face as he turned to look at the driver. He was seated in the passenger seat of the car looking at himself in the mirror and resolutely pulling out grey hairs. He gave a resigned sigh. "I guess you're right. Can't stop time, can I?" He looked moodily away then across the brilliant vista of mountains that surrounded them. "Twenty years," he mused. "Just twenty years – that's all I want back!"

Murdock glanced at him and smiled sadly. "It's never gonna be, Faceman. And there's no point in wasting the time we got craving after it, either."

"I guess but…" Peck had returned his attention to the mirror and was precisely combing his hand through his hair but he caught a glimpse of the car behind them and stopped in mid sentence. He screwed his eyes together to get a better view.

Murdock glanced a second time. "What you need glasses as well as going grey now?" he asked. As he spoke he felt his own body tighten as he perceived the tension in his partner. Peck was now peering over his shoulder, his body taunt and straining. "Son of a bitch!" he spat.

"What?"

"Should have come in the Viper!" Peck said. He turned back to the front. "How fast does this go?" As he spoke he moved over and used his own foot to depress Murdock's one that was on the accelerator.

"Shit!" Murdock cursed as the car lurched forward. "What the hell?" Furiously he squeezed hold and pushed away Peck's leg.

"Car behind," Peck said, ruefully rubbing his leg. "It's got Westwood and Thomas in it."

"And they are?"

"Lorelei's goons."

"Well, why didn't you say that?" Murdock snapped, pursing his lips as he concentrated on sliding the bulky station wagon around the sharp corners as best he could.

Peck looked over his shoulder, noting that the black sedan behind had increased its speed correspondingly. "How in hell did they find me so soon?"

"Doesn't matter!" Murdock growled. "What matters is that they un-find you pretty pronto!"

They were on a tortuous narrow mountain road that wound its way precariously up and down some of the highest peaks of the Sierra Nevada. There were wonderful views but also heart-stopping drops on either side of the road.

"Some scenic ride this turned out to be!" Peck said referring to the disagreement they had had earlier when he had voiced his objection to leaving the Interstate and going cross country. Murdock had persuaded him that there were plenty of hidden hideaways along this road where they would not be disturbed and could renew their friendship.

"How was I supposed to know that mad bitch had you staked out?" Murdock snapped. "You got your gun?"

Peck snorted. "Hardly! You just picked me up from prison, remember? I'm on parole – where am I supposed to have got a gun from?"

"Glove compartment," Murdock said.

Peck gulped as he stopped his hand from moving forwards. "I can't Murdock!" he whined. A sinking feeling clutched at his guts. He had just spent one hundred and twenty days in prison, one hundred and twenty days to get a clean sheet, one hundred twenty days so he didn't have to be afraid every time he saw a cop car, one hundred twenty days so that he and Murdock could relax, buy a house with a picket fence and grow old together like any other couple. And now, within two hours of his release, he was about to violate the terms of his parole. He lurched from one fuck up to another as trouble seemed to stalk him. "It's not fair!" he said despondently.

"No, it's not," Murdock agreed, sensing precisely what was going through Peck's head. "But it's happening and I need your help to get out of it!"

Peck ran his hand through his hair, licked his lips and then reached forward in a rush to flip the door of the compartment open and take out the gun. Once resolved he quickly released the safety, wound down his window and, sticking his head out, began to fire at the car behind. "What's another parole violation anyway!" he muttered.

The road climbed steeply towards the summit and Murdock cursed as he saw a slow moving gasoline tanker in front. The occupants of the sedan had started to return fire and a bullet shattered the station wagon's rear window with a terrific crash.

Rather than be caught between the crawling tanker and the enemy, Murdock pulled out to overtake it.

"Murdock!" Peck shouted as the pilot just managed to squeeze back onto the correct side of the road in front of the tanker before being swept away by the on-coming traffic. The discordant note of a horn screeched through the air.

"Loads of room!" Murdock retorted. "Can't outrun these goons though. We need a plan." He was flooring the gas pedal, trying to take advantage of the fact that the sedan was momentarily trapped behind the tanker. The station wagon's engine was complaining loudly and a tail of black smoke plumed behind their car.

Peck reloaded his gun whilst trying to keep his adrenaline rush from shaking his hands too much. "Shit!" he spat as he dropped one of the bullets. It rolled away under his seat lost.

"You OK, Face?" Murdock asked worriedly.

Peck snorted. "Just dandy!" The firing had started up from behind them again. The sedan was past the tanker and bearing down on them once more. "Ditch the car?" Peck suggested, nodding towards a picnic area fast approaching.

Murdock nodded. "Mountains are big – easy to get lost in them!"

"And I am so dressed for a mountaineering expedition!" Peck muttered, glancing down at his powder blue suit and soft leather shoes.

The car screeched to a halt and they were both out in one bound, both heading left, up a steep slope and disappearing into a clump of evergreen trees. The few picnickers in the area just stared, their mouths dropping wider as the sedan pulled up, black suited, burly occupants alighted with weapons flashing in the afternoon sun, cursed and then made to follow their disappeared quarry.

Further up the track Murdock was jogging along quite happily. "Lovely scenery," he breathed. He ran an appreciative hand down the wrinkled bark of the nearest pine tree. "And the smells…" Peck laboured up behind him, panting hoarsely. "You're out of condition, Face," he admonished. "Didn't you do no exercise in prison? Shame on you!" he reached across and took the gun from Peck's limp hand. He shook his head. "I'll take that – what your parole officer don't see, your parole officer don't know!"

Peck opened his mouth to respond but the crack of a branch breaking and muttered curses drifting on the breeze towards them stopped him. Murdock puffed out his chest and snorted imperiously. "Come!" he ordered.

Peck shook his head but wearily followed. "Do you have any idea where we're going?" he muttered.

"My dear boy, I am a pilot!" Murdock pronounced in his best upper class English accent. "Inside my head is a map, a map of all the terrain I have ever flown over. I know precisely the location of every mountain, every stream, every molehill, why every traffic light even, in this whole damn state!"

"Yeah but do you know where we're going?" Peck repeated through gritted teeth.

"I know exactly where! Yonder, at the top of this little hillock we climb is a gully; a place of sanctuary, of escape from all the disenchantments. A place of hope and fulfilment; far flung from the barren batterings and dreaded disappointments of life. Yes, my friend, there is the refuge that you seek. A small babbling brook meanders gracefully through the patchwork of soft grass. There are tall pines that shade and shelter as they whisper, contentedly on the breeze…."

"Murdock!"

"… whilst overhead an eagle, the epitome of American freedom glides blissfully on the currents, watching, waiting…"

"Mur – oh shit!"

Murdock ceased both his physical and verbal rambling and turned to see Peck behind him, on his knees on the pine needle covered forest floor.

"Faceyman, what you doing down there?"

Peck looked up, his face red with both exertion and anger. He pulled himself to his feet and kicked out at what appeared to be an innocent fallen branch. "Who put that there?" he hissed. He looked down at his filthy pants. "Awwwh! Dry clean only – I am never gonna get these clean!"

"It's OK, Facey!" Murdock reached out his hand to steady the other man. As they touched he felt the unhealthy tension that was thrumming through Peck. "Calm down," he said soothingly. "You OK to carry on?"

Peck snorted. "I guess. Lead on, Murdock!"

They climbed for another few minutes and Murdock topped the rise first. He stopped. "Oh!"

"Oh, what?" Peck asked slithering along the last part of the climb. The forest had thinned until it stopped completely a few feet below the top, petering out into bare stark grey rock and the two men had to clamber up to a narrow plateau above. Eventually Peck stood beside Murdock stricken by what he saw. "No gully, no valley, no grass, no eagle! So much for what's inside your head, Murdock!"

"All right!" It was Murdock's turn to snap. "I maybe made a slight miscalculation!"

The narrow plateau on which they stood held a few giant boulders that dotted its surface in a random pattern but after that was a whole, great lump of nothing – a sheer drop of some forty feet. To their right a waterfall crashed from the height they were at down into the basin it had carved from the rock below.

"Oh great!" Peck breathed.

A bullet chose that particular moment to whistle past his head as the goons exited the trees below. "Face!" Murdock screeched as he took hold of the other man's shoulder and pulled him down behind the shelter of an ample boulder.

Murdock took the gun from out of the back of his pants where he had shoved it and managed to get off a few shots that stopped the goons climbing any nearer.

"What now?" Face asked, breathing hard and finding it even more difficult to control his adrenaline rush.

Murdock screwed up his face, opened his mouth to speak and then stopped. His features suddenly broke into the most exquisite of grins. "Oh my god!" he breathed.

"What?" Peck asked.

"Don't you get it?" Murdock was so excited he was almost levitating.

Peck put a grounding hand on the other's shoulder – just in case. "Get what?"

"Look at this place!" Murdock swept his arms wide, scrunching his eyebrows knowingly. "Do we fight or do we jump, Sundance?"

"Sundance? I thought…." Peck groaned as comprehension came to him. "Oh shit," he moaned bleakly.

Murdock shook his head. "No, you say 'We fight!'"

"With what?" Peck snapped back.

Murdock pouted. "Face! You're not doing it right!"

"Murdock – I am not doing it at all!"

"You want to fight, you can't swim, remember?"

"Murdock! This is not a scene from goddamn Butch Cassidy and the goddamn Sundance Kid! And besides, I can swim, not that it matters much cos the fall will probably kill us!

"No!" Murdock shrieked. "That's my line! You're ruining this for me, Face!"

A bullet twanged off the boulder they were hiding behind. Peck snorted. "How much ammo you got left?"

Murdock shrugged. "Only what I got in the chamber – three, four maybe."

"Right." Peck drew in a deep breath. "I want you to know I am only doing this cos I have to." He turned towards the deathly drop behind them but then hesitated. "Oh, and one other thing," He grabbed hold of Murdock and planted a strong but swift kiss on the pilot's startled lips. "I love you!"

"Funny, I don't recall that bit!" Murdock murmured as Peck pulled him towards the edge. Taking one last deep breath they leapt into the yawning abyss together.

"SHIT…………………………………….!"

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Part 6**

"SHIT!"

The fall was quick and the shock of hitting the water intense. Peck tried to keep his grip on Murdock but they were forced apart almost immediately. Peck tried to look to see where his partner had gone but his vision was blurred by the water and the muddle of bubbles that clouded everything.

Then the cold took him and he could think no more. Frozen fingers grasped at his lungs squeezing out his precious air and an icy chill clutched at his limbs, numbing them, making them useless. Still he went downwards, into the blackness below, all senses closing down and all thought lost. The pressure from his lungs was intense and at the moment he was sure he could endure it no more he suddenly changed direction and was going up; up through the brightening water, towards the sunlight that arrowed through the gloom.

A splash signalled him breaking the surface and for a second his senses worked again. He thankfully gasped in a gulp of air but then everything was muffled, wet and cold as he was pulled back under. He knew he could not fight the relentless power of the water, so he decided to go with it, allowing the river to pull him downstream but it was a painful business as his pitiful body crashed into rocks that had stood sentinel over the river for centuries. The pain shot through him and he groaned. He was still trying to breathe and sometimes he managed it but other times he sucked in only more of the cold water and he could do nothing but choke and spit.

He wondered then if this was how it was all going to end. But even that thought was wrenched from his grasp as he slammed into another rock and the pain arced through him forcing away all coherent thought. His senses were waterlogged and he could not keep his head out of water long enough to see where he was going so he was unprepared for each new obstacle that he buffeted into. Still he told himself to relax, to not give into the black fear that threatened him, just to exist, to breathe again one more breath whenever the chance arrived.

The bruising journey seemed to last a lifetime and Peck had the odd sensation that this was all his life had ever been. Everything else was but a passing fancy, the cold, the pain, the fear that crystallised through him was all that was real.

And then the battering stopped. He managed to force his head out of the water and sucked in deep long breaths. He was aware of hands clasping hold of him, pulling him out and then he was lying on his side, gasping like a dying fish, stomach heaving uncontrollably as he retched up oceans of mountain water.

Finally he seemed to have expelled all the liquid from his lungs, eyes and ears and he rolled over onto his back, groaning and blinking miserably at the figure he could dimly make out standing over him.

"Damn city boys and your goddamn thrill seeking," a gnarled voice growled, followed by a spitting sound. "Forgot something important, didn't you?

"What?" Peck heard Murdock's somewhat muffled voice beside him and couldn't still the relieved flutter of relief it caused in his already fragile gut.

"Next time," came the knowing voice. "Remember your goddamn canoe!"

* * *

"Shall we go through it again?" The Sheriff regarded him from under bushy eyebrows.

Peck let out a long breath. "I already told you," he sighed working at keeping his tone tolerant.

Sheriff Wyatt Hopkins shook his head patiently. "Nope," he said before turning and spitting into the bowl beside him. "Don't think you've told me all there is to tell. And until you do that I'm gonna keep right on asking!"

Peck shook his head and steepled his handcuffed hands together on the table in front of him. "Can I have a lawyer?" he asked.

"Nope," Accompanied by another spit. "Can't be doing with your city ways here. If you tell me what was going on, then you won't need a lawyer, will you?" His hairy face creased into what Peck suspected may have been a smile but under so much hair who could tell? Piercing intelligent grey eyes regarded him with a challenging twinkle. "Let's recap, shall we? Your name is Templeton Arthur Peck. You were released from Folsom State Prison at precisely 2.16 this afternoon and you were apprehended by me and my men at 4.43 taking an impromptu swim in goddamn Sierra Creek. You were at large for exactly two hours, twenty seven minutes. In that time I have had reported numerous traffic violations, six public order complaints not to mention stories of gangsters with guns marauding through the forest! I think you may have set some sort of goddamn record with all this!" Another spit. He leaned in towards Peck then, beady grey eyes cold and foreboding. "I know for sure that unless you start talking quick I will be taking your sorry ass straight back to Folsom!"

"Do we get a meal here?" Peck asked. "Cos all that swimming has made me real hungry!" He shrugged uncomfortably as the rough material of the prison fatigues, he had been given to replace his wet and ruined suit, rubbed along his skin. He tried not to let the fact that he was back in prison garb again so soon play on his mind but it was a depressing thought.

"Dammit!" Hopkins stood up in a rush of anger. "You think you're real smart, don't you Peck! But I haven't done forty years as a law man not to be able to smell trouble when it comes calling. And you reek of it! Now I have witnesses who can put you at the picnic area with a gun, a blatant violation of your parole. You better start talking."

"I think your witnesses are mistaken. My colleague, he may have had a gun but not me." Peck kept his voice calm and even, almost bored.

Hopkins snorted as he felt his frustration building angrily deep inside – he was not known as a patient man, in fact his lack of that particular virtue had caused him to be known by the name 'Volcano' for most of his youth. With maturity and the Sherrif's job the nickname had been dropped but its cause remained nevertheless. Nowadays the authority of his rank plus his overbearing and hirsute presence was enough to turn his captives to jello before his eyes. He glared at the seemingly calm man before him – his usual prisoners were just city kids out for a good time or the local scum who knew him well – it wasn't often that a real criminal fell into Hopkins' hands. He wanted to make the most of it and to do that he had to keep his temper. "And why did your colleague, Mr .. eh Murdock, have a gun?" he managed to get out through gritted teeth.

Peck shrugged. "Hunting, I guess!"

"Hunting!" Hopkins spat in disgust. "Hunting with a revolver! Why in hell should I be surprised, eh? You boys went white water rafting without the boat!"

Peck gave him the benefit of his full power smile, his teeth gleaming in the dull light of the cramped office. "We city boys like to do things differently!" he beamed.

"Associating with a man with a gun is still a breech of your parole!" Hopkins leaned back and drew in a long, rattling sigh. "I'm not gonna get anywhere with you am I?"

"I wasn't driving, I wasn't shooting and I certainly wasn't committing any crime, Sheriff. I guess that means you have to let me go." Peck sat back, mirroring the Sheriff's movement and smirking arrogantly.

"Take him back to the cells," Hopkins said gruffly. "Let him goddamn stew a while."

Peck's face crumpled in mock despair. "Stew?" he said. "Do you have to mention food cos I'm starving!"

"Damn city boy!" Hopkins groaned as Peck departed. The Sheriff sighed as he reviewed what he knew or rather the depressing gaps in his knowledge base. Hopkins had his reputation to think about – the elections weren't long away – and he knew what he had now would be laughed out of court. Still it didn't seem goddamn right that a smart-mouthed confidence man should get away with it! But get away with what? That was the problem! Hopkins' senses told him there was something very wrong here. But still he had no evidence!

He slammed his fist down on the desk, hard. "Don't play unless you can win," he muttered the mantra he had developed through his long years as a law man. His instinct told him he should delve deeper but his brain said leave well alone – in the morning they would be gone, just two bundles of goddamn old trash that reeked of trouble lost in the stinking cesspit that was LA. The Sheriff sighed again – he had enough to do without getting involved in this shit. Let them be someone-else's problem.

He pulled his aching body out of the chair, put on his hat and made his way to the diner on the edge of town he liked to frequent. He couldn't let goddamn trash come between him and his dinner after all!

* * *

"I'm sorry, Face," Murdock said as he stood at the bars to the cell next to his. "I didn't mean it to end like this. I mean I pick you up from prison this afternoon and where are you gonna spend the night? In a cell!"

Peck was sitting on his bed. He rolled his eyes. "Doesn't matter Murdock," he replied. "You know I've been in a lot worse than this. It's dry, it's warm, dinner wasn't wonderful but it was edible and at least it's safe."

"It's not fair though." Both realised that Murdock was echoing Peck's words from earlier

Peck leaned back and stretched. "You'd have thought at our age we'd have gotten used to that, wouldn't you?" He sighed as he glanced around their accommodation helplessly "I think maybe I should write a book – prison cells I have known!"

"You all right, though really?" Murdock peered at his friend. "You were well strung out this afternoon."

Peck stood up and moved to stand in front of Murdock. "I've had a lot on my mind recently and this afternoon didn't help. But I'm cool now." Full blazing smile curled his lips. "Hell, I bet nobody else ever came out of prison with quite the same experience you gave me today!"

Murdock nodded. "I wanted it to be special!" he said.

"Well it was certainly memorable. I'll be coughing up that river for months!" He reached out through the bars of his adjoining cell and gently ran his hand down Murdock's cheek. "Thanks for waiting for me," he said almost shyly.

Murdock gulped. "Didn't think we'd have to wait any longer."

Peck chuckled humourlessly. "What's another day? One hundred and twenty one nights alone are much the same as a hundred and twenty. And at least tonight I can see you. Besides you and me are past masters at waiting, aren't we?"

"Don't make it any easier," Murdock breathed as they both leaned into each other, lips quivering, and bodies ready.

"That's enough!" Sheriff Hopkins' voice came from the door followed by the telltale sound of his spit. "Move away from each other now, goddamn it!" With a barely concealed sigh Peck stepped back as Hopkins continued, his voice tinged with disgust. "Don't want none of your queer city boys ways here!"

Still an immensely private person, especially as far as his relationship with Murdock was concerned and embarrassed to be caught in a compromising pose by a stranger, Peck withdrew instantly and moved back to his bed as Murdock watched him sadly.

Murdock whistled through his teeth, feigning indifference but his wide eyes followed Peck's retreat. "Don't worry about it, Face," he whispered. "That was one hell of a Butch and Sundance moment we shared!"

There was little light in the cell area and so the pilot missed the tense tightening of Peck's body as his control faltered.

Murdock awoke in his cell later that night with an extreme sense of being watched. He shuddered, unable to damp down the emotion that seemed to flick through him and unwilling to examine its source further.

Instead he focused on the practical – he was in the middle cell of a block of five, all others were empty save for the one directly on his left. They were in the block behind the main Sheriff's office. It was dark, Murdock guessed it was probably somewhere between 1.00 and 2.00 in the morning, the only light was a beam that came through the slightly open office door cutting through the darkness to cascade on to the cell next to him.

The pilot's eyes followed the light and came to rest of the slight bulge of the figure laying on the cot. The light did not fall on Peck's features but on his lower body still Murdock could see its reflection shining brightly in those familiar eyes that lit the gloom beyond.

"Face, you awake?" Murdock whispered.

"Uh huh." The eyes blinked once.

Murdock had his suspicions about why Face was lying in the dark, unwilling to sleep but instead of voicing them he simply stated. "It's the middle of the night."

Face snorted. "I could say the same to you," he muttered.

"I'm awake cos I felt somebody looking at me – you. What's your excuse?"

The eyes blinked again and looked away as Peck made a non committal noise.

"You wanna know what I think?" Murdock asked, sitting up in the bed so he could get a better view through the dimness. Peck ignored him so he continued. "I think you're scared to go to sleep, scared cos you'll dream and I'll hear it. There's something in your dreams that frightens you so very much and I'll hear and know you lied to me."

Still no reaction from Peck whose features were silvered by the slitting light slicing through the doorway.

Murdock snorted with impatience. "Wouldn't be the first time," he said.

Peck leaned forward a little so his face was bathed in the light fully and turned to look at the other man. "What?" he asked in a faraway voice that matched the dullness in his eye.

"That you've lied to me," Murdock continued resolutely; not quite sure where he was going with this line of attack but trusting the instinct that came from deep in his guts. He wanted a reaction, an emotion – anger, affected innocence, indignation, anything to prove the man he loved was still there, but Peck simply nodded and turned his eyes back to the ceiling.

Murdock felt the frustration; they had been apart for so long, he had forgotten just how stubborn his partner could be. Still he pushed, "So you're not going to deny it, then?"

Peck sighed. "What and lie again? What would be the point?"

Murdock hesitated, peering through the gloom, desperate to get a sense of what was really going on here – the lifeless voice, the acceptance, the defeat was so unlike the conman he knew and loved – maybe prison had had a greater affect than he realised? "You're scaring me, Face," he confessed finally.

Peck turned to look at him again. "I was remembering, that's all," he said softly.

"Remembering? Remembering what?"

"A night in Nam." The voice was so faraway now, Murdock thought it had left for the Asian country of memory. "We were drunk, must have spent the night in the OC. Anyway, I started to rain and you decided you couldn't make it to your billet so you stayed in our hooch. You were hunkered down on the floor, wrapped in a blanket, snoring…"

"I do not snore!"

"Do to!"

"Do not!"

Peck snorted. "OK, you were on the floor in a blanket appearing to snore but obviously not and I was on my bunk watching you, like a couple of minutes ago. You're really cute when you're still and quiet, Murdock, really cute." He let out a breath full of longing.

Murdock waited, enjoying the warm, tingling feeling deep inside that Peck's words had sparked. "And?" he said finally when he could wait no more.

"I was thinking how I fucked it all up," Peck said. "And how I'm going to do it again."

In a rush of movement, Murdock threw off his blanket and went to stand as near as the bars would allow to the other man. "Why do you think that, Face?"

"You all tried," Peck continued. "Hannibal, BA and you, especially you, and for a while you looked after me. But I was screwed up before you met me, I'll always be screwed up. It's just too easy for me to press my self destruct button."

Murdock gulped. "Facey," he breathed, longing to be able to touch his friend. "That's just not true – you're the best man I ever met."

"If I'm so good, how come I end up in fucken prison every five minutes? How come the only thing I've ever been good at is conning and stealing from people? How come I never make a relationship last for longer than two months, how come everybody leaves me? And how come I'm laying in the dark, all alone, just desperate for a touch, any touch?" It was a torrent of emotion that washed out of the conman and once started Peck was unable to hold it back.

Murdock faltered, realising, though he had hoped to provoke an emotion, he had never dreamed it would come in this outpouring of such intense hopelessness. He felt at once proud, knowing that he was the only soul on the whole planet that Peck would ever reveal himself to so completely but also he felt guilt as he was to blame for their predicament and he could do little about it. Arguments of how best to respond slewed through his mind, but he resisted all save one; he focused on the statement that hurt him most. "Our relationship has lasted longer than two months, Face; thirty years and it's still going strong." He did nothing to silence the anguish that clutched in his voice.

He saw Peck gulp and the emotion flicker across those perfect features. "I wanted to go to you then," Peck said. "When you were on the floor in the hooch, looking so cute, so warm, so safe. Even with all the other guys close, I almost did. I wanted you to take me in your arms and hold me, hold me forever. Keep me safe; keep me away from all danger, all the trouble, all the fuck ups that were waiting for me. You could have done that for me."

Murdock closed his eyes. So that was what this about! All the bravado of earlier; one hundred and twenty one nights being no different than one hundred and twenty that was all it had been, pure bravado; Peck keeping up appearances as usual. Murdock felt an overpowering rush of affection wash through him – how he loved this guy! But he had to keep focused, forced himself to respond as neutrally as he could, even though his loins were somersaulting with desire. "Why didn't you then, Face?"

Peck snorted, shaking his head slowly. "I always wanted what I couldn't have, wanted to be something I wasn't; always went for the long shot, the risky option. Never found what I was looking for because that wasn't it, not really." He sniffed. "What I needed was right in front of my eyes for thirty years! Don't deserve you, Murdock – I never did!"

"Face, you're an idiot!" Murdock said, his voice warm with fondness. "You got me whether you deserve me or not, and you'll always have me."

"Would it have changed things?" Peck asked. "If I'd found the courage that night to do what I wanted. Would it have made things better?"

Murdock snorted. "It doesn't matter, Face. I told you earlier, you can't keep battering yourself with this, you know it. Gotta put it all out of your mind, put it behind us – you're the best guy I know for enduring tough shit and then moving on."

Face sniffed. "It's frightening being alone in the dark," he said wistfully sounding nothing more than the little boy that hid deep inside him, so effectively hidden by the wise-talking, brash exterior he showed the world.

"I know, Face, but it's just for tonight, after that I promise that you never need to be alone again – I'll be right with you every step of the way."

"I'll fuck it up!"

"Doesn't matter – I'll still love you, no matter what."

Peck nodded. He still lay unmoving on the bed but now his moist eyes came back to rest on Murdock, standing at the bars before him. "Thank you," he said softly.

Murdock smiled. "You gotta sleep now, Face, you're exhausted. I'm right over here and it's not so dark, not when we're together is it? You and me, Face, it's just you and me, forever!"

* * *

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Part 7**

"Nice place you got here." Peck hoped his voice sounded more enthusiastic than he felt, he was sure working hard at his performance, had been all day.

Tawnia's rouged lips broke into a broad grin and she ran her tongue across them tantalisingly. "Flatterer!" she giggled.

Something deep down in Peck, long hidden and almost forgotten, stirred – had to admit she had kept herself looking good, even after three kids, she had all the right bits in all the right places. "Thanks, Face!" she beamed. "Coming from a guy with such knowledge and exquisite taste as you, I know that's a compliment!"

They were standing on the terrace of Tawnia's ocean view home, looking out across the golden beach to where the pure blue of the Pacific lapped lazily up at the shore – an idyllic paradise for rich, successful people.

Peck felt even more incongruous and uncomfortable. "I scammed a few like this myself," he muttered, unsure if he was saying it for her or his own benefit.

Tawnia's eyebrows rose and she peered at him curiously, trying to assess if it was the old Faceman confidence speaking or something more defensive and worrying. He ignored her questioning gaze, just as when he looked out at the beautiful vista before them, he ignored the memory that came to him causing a rush of heat to flash straight for his crotch – it wasn't far from here, just a little ways down the beach, where he and Murdock had first……

…………He cut the thought off abruptly, strangling it at birth. He was already feeling too exposed, too vulnerable, he could not afford to open his defences any further, could not allow the weakness. Instead he clutched his wine glass with one hand and the balustrade rail in front of him with the other, eyes fixed determinedly on the far horizon.

It was Peck's Coming Home party, arranged at Tawnia and Brian Leftcourt's house because, quite simply of all the people who had offered, they had the biggest home available. When Murdock had explained the plans to him as they drove back from Sacramento, Peck had felt a growing sense of disquiet – he really did not want to be here with all these people at all. He wanted to be alone, just him and Murdock… but he also knew that these people were his friends and he could not disappoint them, so he had switched on his dazzling smile and determined to endure.

Only now he was actually here and being fretted over by these people it was even harder than he had imagined. The gregarious part of him loved it all of course, had indeed missed this sort of attention while he was in prison but very soon there seemed to be too many, who were so friendly, so eager that he had an overwhelming sensation of suffocating in sugary kindness. It had driven him out to the terrace, where Tawnia had followed nervously, unsure whether she was doing the right thing.

It was an incredibly hot day, the heat shimmering starkly above the sand and the sidewalks, sapping the strength of all and threatening to consume everything in a ball of intense fire. Most people had headed straight into the A/C cooled dimness of Tawnia's house. However, Brian Leftcourt, Tawnia's husband, was defying the heat over at the side of the house supervising the barbeque, he was careful however to stay well under the cool comfort of his sun shade and was endeavouring to consume lots of beer to ensure he survived the heat.

The giggles of the only other souls brave enough to be outside drifted up to the terrace. The kids of ages between five and fifteen had been covered in sunscreen and after donning their bathers, galloped off with whoops of excited glee to the sea. They could be seen now at the waters edge splashing and swimming in the cooling relief of the ocean.

"I'm glad you're home," Tawnia said, her eyes following Peck's to alight on the children. She felt the telltale rush of maternal pride as she easily picked out the blonde, bronzed forms of her three teenagers through the hazy heat.

Face looked back at her then and smiled. "Thanks," he said and then continued. "And thanks for doing all this for me." He waved his hand vaguely to indicate everything about them before replacing it firmly back on the rail.

Her eyes narrowed. "I had help from everyone. We all pulled together. We wanted to show you that there are lots of us who care about you, Face." She reached across and laid a cool, perfectly manicured hand on top of his on the rail. "No matter what happens we'll be here for you. She looked him straight in the eye. "Whether he wants it or not, through his own hard work and achievements, the little orphan boy has found himself a family! And we're it!"

Peck nodded, looked down as he swirled the wine that remained in his glass and then gulped the warm rich liquid down a little too hurriedly. Suddenly he felt very hot even on the shaded terrace. He didn't know quite what to say; being lost for words always made him uncomfortable and he shuffled nervously from foot to foot.

Knowing him of old and sensing his edginess now, Tawnia smiled as she withdrew her hand. "Want a refill?" she asked.

He nodded again, not trusting his voice, and running a shuddering hand through his hair, he seized the opportunity to look away from her soft yet challenging stare back to the ocean. He cleared his throat, searching for something to say, anything to detract her from talking about him, but his former prowess for small talk seemed to have deserted him.

He was immeasurably thankful and could not contain his sigh of relief when a shriek of uncontrollable and slightly crazed laughter rent through the air. It came from the other side of the house and they moved around the terrace as the others crowded out of the house to see what was happening.

Murdock had commandeered the bike of Tawnia's oldest daughter, Jesse, and was now riding it, in a somewhat wobbily fashion around the yard. His lack of balance was probably due to two things; firstly Amy Allen was perched precariously on the handlebars but also Murdock was intent on throwing his head back as he sang 'Rain drops keep falling on my head!' at the top of his voice.

"Shut up fool!" BA's uncompromisingly growl could be heard and then the softer, sweeter voice of his wife, Aisha, as she placated her man, a role she often played in such circumstances these days.

Tawnia began to laugh, joining in with everybody else, while Amy was shaking her head fearfully as she clung on. "Murdock, I don't think this is such a good idea!" She tried to make herself heard over the song but the pilot just wiggled his eyebrows and continued to sing as they wobbled dangerously.

Face shook his head and contemplated going back inside but Murdock's voice stopped him. "Yo Sundance!" he shouted. "What do you think?"

Peck smiled despite himself; Murdock could always be relied upon to lighten any dark mood. "Looking good, Butch," he grinned.

"I thought so too!" Murdock was going around again and talking over his shoulder up to the house where Face was approaching, consequently he was paying no attention to where the bike was veering.

"Murdock!" Amy screamed.

The front wheel of the bike ran off the tarmac of the yard and into the clinging sand of the beach which stopped it dead. Murdock carried on pedalling and the back wheel unaware that its partner had stopped carried on turning, with the result that the back end of the bike was lifted into the air and its two riders were pitched painfully forwards over the handlebars and into the sand.

There was a moment of stunned silence and then everybody was running towards the downed couple, concern playing across their faces. Amy moaned and was gently helped to her feet. She turned back towards Murdock, who wisely had decided to stay on the ground. "You idiot!" she said although her tone was still playful, just. "I told you it was a stupid idea!"

Mo and Tawnia moved in to reassure and cluck appropriately at her. "More alcohol," Amy's husband, Frank offered advice in a somewhat slurred voice. "Give her alcohol – it'll deaden the pain!" They led her away back into the house and everyone else drifted back too, Frank staggering noticeably.

"Nice one, fool!" BA spat as he reached down his big, solid hand for assistance.

Murdock ignored the offer, pulled himself up indignantly and began to brush the sand off his Bermuda shorts and T shirt. "How come sand gets everywhere?" he asked to no one in particular which was just as well because his two remaining companions ignored him.

"Oh, I don't know, BA," Peck said mildly as he watched everyone else making their way back inside. "I reckon Murdock deserves some sort of a medal, I mean taking Amy for a ride – I bust my butt trying that for ages and never got anywhere close!" He clasped his arm around the pilot. "I'm proud of you, kid!"

"Fool rides a bike like he flies a plane!" BA scowled. "Bad!" His face creased then and he let out one of his charming chuckles. "At least he landed on the softest part of his body." He moved away to follow the others. "His head!"

Peck stepped back, crossed his arms and looked Murdock up and down, sniffing appreciatively. "Class, Murdock," he said. "Class! I'll give you full marks for artistic impression on that forward roll sans bicycle - truly unbelievable. And how did you ever talk Amy into it?"

"Persuasion – 'tis a virtue!" Murdock grinned proudly. "Learned it from a master – a true artist!" He picked up the bike and regarded it critically. "Oops," he muttered biting his lip thoughtfully.

Brian's voice came from over by the fire, where he had watched the whole escapade, chortling to himself. "Hope you haven't damaged that. Jesse'll kill you if you have!" he called helpfully.

"Maybe BA will fix it for you, Murdock!" Peck smirked.

Murdock lifted the bike holding it awkwardly so the father of its owner could not see the slightly buckled front wheel rim. "It's not so bad – just a little bent," he muttered. Then he raised his voice "It's fine, Bri!" he called. "No problem!" Brian waved back and then returned his attention to the food.

"You need to mend it, Murdock," Peck sighed. "I've seen Jesse in a rage – not a pretty sight and you've managed to upset Amy too. Who is the Neanderthal now?"

"Learned it from a master!" Murdock repeated solemnly, then grinned. "I do my best!" he said with a flutter of his eyelids. "And it was worth it to see you smile. Anything is worth it to see you smile!" He tried to bend the wheel back as his lips pursed in thought.

Peck watched him curiously but appeared to have no inclination to help. Murdock wondered, for the millionth time what realyl was going on behind those eyes.

Since the heart wrenching conversation in Sheriff Hopkins' cell, Murdock had been increasingly worried about his friend. The conman had finally fallen asleep and Murdock had lain in the dim light listening to his breathing. At first it had been rhythmic and calm but as Murdock listened the breaths had become more ragged.

In the past, when Face had been disturbed by a dream, Murdock had gone to him but this time, locked in his own cell, he was obviously unable to do so. Instead the pilot was forced to lie on his back and listen.

Peck began to mumble and Murdock concentrated all of his senses on trying to decipher what the other man was saying. Peck seemed to be having a conversation but it was muttered in a very low voice. Murdock thought he picked up Hannibal's name a few times but little else.

As the murmuring continued it grew louder but no more clear and Peck's agitation increased, his body flexing and spasming as he thrashed about on the bed. He began to shout the word "No!" quite clearly, getting louder on each occasion. Finally Murdock could stand it no longer and, biting down the flicker of betrayal that his actions caused him, he called for the guard.

It had taken a long time to pull Peck from wherever his dream had taken him. Murdock had pleaded to be allowed into his friend's cell but fearing an escape attempt, the guard had refused. Instead he shook Peck until bleary blue eyes opened and tried vaguely to focus on him. Then he left them alone again. Murdock had tried to talk but Peck was so exhausted he could not summon up the energy and simply lay on his bed thoroughly spent. By the time dawn lightened the sky outside Peck finally appeared to be sleeping again.

Murdock, on the other hand, found it impossible to find sleep once more. His worries and doubts had jittered around his head keeping him constantly on edge. So he had lain awake and thought and waited.

After the Sheriff had released them and sent them on their way with a few more choice goddamns and a threat of what he would do to them if they ever set foot on his turf again the next morning, Murdock had tried to talk to Peck about his worries but the man had simply refused to discuss any of it. Instead he became more distant and reticent to talk about anything at all, withdrawing into himself rather than face the issue. How typical of the man!

Now later the same day, Murdock had worried about the effect this party would have on him so soon after his release but Face had appeared willing enough to come. However, even though he had put on his best act for the guests all afternoon, Murdock had seen that none of Peck's stunning smiles had actually reached his eyes which had remained veiled and remote all day.

In fact the first time Murdock had actually seen a true killer smile had been when he had looked up to see those bottomless blue eyes above him as he lay in a painful heap in the sand when he had been entangled with Amy only minutes ago. Remembering that, he rubbed his head, letting the breath whistle through his teeth as he touched the sensitive and growing bump there – man, it would hurt in the morning! And he had to get the bike repaired.

But, as he walked back towards the cool relief of the dim house, shyly running his arm up and around Peck's shoulders and thrilling to the fact that not only did the other man not complain, he seemed to lean in even closer, Murdock realised that he didn't really care!

Brian shouted across that the food was ready and so everyone moved towards the terrace to eat. On her way out of the front room Mo switched off the TV which had been unwatched in the corner soundlessly showing CNN for most of the day. Consequently no one saw the latest newsflash as it scrolled across the scene just before it went dead;

"_Attack on Sheriff's office in Sierra Nevada…. Police suspect LA gangs take their war to the mountains….five dead, more injured."_

In truth no one would have noted it if they had, save for a curious glance at such a strange turn of events. The only person who would have known its import was walking arm and arm with his lover across the yard and he wasn't going to see the news until late the next day. By that time the world would have moved on – scandals in politics, deaths in wars, governments rising and falling, and new heroes on the sports field would ensure that the happenings at Sheriff Wyatt Hopkins' office deep in the mountains would be consigned to a few words hidden in the inside pages. And everybody knew Templeton Peck only read the business news section anyway………..

* * *

TBC 


	8. Chapter 8

**Part 8**

The sun was disappearing dramatically into the ocean, sending out streaks of gold and red and yellow across the ribbons of wispy clouds high up in the stratosphere. A hot, sultry darkness gathered in the east to take possession of the sky with the simmering promise of storms bubbling up later. It was beautiful and breathtaking – a sunset that was a fleeting moment but would last in memory.

Peck sighed deeply and moved his bottom slightly to snuggle backwards. He was sitting on the sand with the others as Brian threw another log on to the fire and the flames danced skywards once more. A sight such as this one, on this stretch of the Californian coast was not unusual, indeed as darkness fell, a number of other fires could be seen dotted brightly along the sweeping expanse of beach. But what was uncommon in this situation was Peck's proximity to Murdock. The two were seated together; Murdock directly behind with Peck occupying the patch of sand between the pilot's legs. As he leaned back Face touched the still lithe and alive body of Murdock in a series of intimate places that sent a current of pure electricity arcing through him. Murdock smiled and moved his hands forwards over Peck's shoulders to cuddle him close.

No one remarked but a few of the more perceptive, notably Mo and Amy and Tawnia, rolled their eyes, exchanged looks and nodded knowingly. Although they all knew about Face and Murdock and their relationship, none of them had seen such intimacy so clearly demonstrated in front of them before. Peck, in particular, had been at great pains to keep his distance from the other man and to reveal no emotion. No one remarked on it now but all wondered what had changed to cause this new behaviour. Now Peck simply sighed again as if unaware of the attention, closed his eyes and luxuriated in the feeling of closeness, wallowing in the sensation after one hundred and twenty one days of being alone.

"You OK, Faceman?" Murdock breathed in his ear, very conscious of the throbbing in his own body as a consequence of his partner's actions.

"Uh-huh," Peck responded unwilling to open his eyes or to use his voice for fear that such activity would break the spell of tranquillity that encased him.

Murdock looked across the fire to Tawnia and their eyes locked. They shared a knowing smile and then the pilot lay his head down on Peck's shoulder, closed his eyes and simply felt their intimacy. They had both waited a long time to be this close.

"How's Kyle?" Amy asked Mo, anxious to talk about something except the happenings in front of her.

The matronly lady's ample chest wobbled as she let out a long sigh. "He's doing OK," she said but her voice lacked the usual warm animation it held normally when discussing her sons. "Baghdad is hell, I think. But please God, he'll stay safe and come home soon."

Murdock felt Peck shudder and knew that his lover was thinking about another war, other suffering, friends lost and friends found; all in the sweaty, intense horror of Vietnam. So many years ago now but so deeply scarred into the fibres of the men they had both become that the memories were always hovering close to the surface and needed only the slightest opening to easily leap into consciousness.

BA strode up to the fire after settling his kids and the Leftcourts in their respective beds, back in the house. He growled. "What you two fools doing? Pawing each other like that!"

The women exchanged amused glances at the big man's lack of tact, especially as they had all worked so hard not to mention it. They looked across to Murdock and Peck expecting to see some self-conscious movement, or at least pleading of innocence but Peck just gave a beaming smile and leant back even further, his grin spread contentedly across the whole of his face.

Murdock scowled a little. "Chill, big guy!" he soothed. "Ain't doing nothing that's gonna cause any harm to anybody."

BA snorted but allowed Aisha to pull him down beside her. His face cracked into a smile and he let out his high pitched chuckle. "'Bout time!" he murmured.

Peck opened his eyes and regarded him. "Teasing?" he questioned. He looked back over his shoulder to Murdock who shrugged. "Good Lord, you haven't found a sense of humour, have you BA? Where did you discover that?"

BA's smile widened. "Same place you found an honest relationship, Faceman!" he laughed.

They sat around the fire for a long time chatting and drinking and generally just being friends. Finally people began to drift off to bed until there was just Aisha and BA, Face and Murdock left. BA's beautiful wife was fast asleep curled into her husband's safe barrelling chest.

Sure that she was asleep, BA looked at the two men before him, his eyes narrowing with worry. "I been hearing, things," he said.

Murdock let out a shriek and then said in his best southern drawl. "Oh my, the big guy's been hearing things! I told you not to get those big ears of yours syringed. What did you hear?"

BA's eyes glanced dismissively at Murdock but came back to rest on Face. "I still hear the word on the street," he shook his head slowly. "Brotherhood of the Black Coyotes is bad news and they is getting worse."

Peck sniffed and looked away. "I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered uncomfortably but doing nothing to subdue his natural, normal reaction at being challenged; he lied intuitively.

BA sighed. "You don't wanna cross 'em, Face. That's all I'm saying. And if you did, you better tell cos I can help."

"I'll bear that in mind," Peck responded, still not looking back into the other man's smouldering gaze.

"Hello?" Murdock said. "I am still here, aren't I? Cos there's a whole conversation going on here that I know nothing about! Hello?"

"Shut it, fool!"

"Oh, I am here then!"

"Not for long if my fists get to you." BA looked back at Peck. "Streets are hot, Face. Black man, he ain't happy and he want to cause pain. Black Coyotes is the worst. They don't understand nothing and they don't see anything 'cept the colour of your skin. You're either with 'em or you not. And you not! You hear what I'm saying, Faceman?"

"I hear BA but I don't understand why you're saying it to me."

"Like I say I hear things, Face and I know you; know that mouth of yours can get you into trouble, I know you couldn't keep it shut not for hundred and twenty days in prison - I heard stuff about you and I didn't like it."

"Face, what is he talking about?" Murdock was suddenly serious.

Peck lifted his arms in a gesture of innocence. "I don't know," he said.

"I don't want you hurt, Face." BA said. "You too old to get caught in a race war. Besides I known you long enough to know you're a disrespecting conman with a wise-ass mouth, but your heart is good."

"I don't want to be in a war either! Look BA there's no problem. I don't know what you're hearing but it's wrong. I don't know the Brotherhood of Black Coyotes… honestly!"

BA shook his head unconvinced. "Just remember what I said. And you, fool, look after him!"

Murdock was shaking his head violently, his serious persona slipping away as quickly as it had come. "Hello? Hello? Murdock calling earth. I am phasing in and out. Hello earth, do you read me?" He cocked his head and sticking his finger in his ear, wiggled it about.

"Murdock," Peck said and then more loudly. "Murdock, cut it out."

The pilot sighed with relief. "Am I back? Oh gee, I thought I'd gone for good then – had to think that cos I know you two are my bestest friends and you would never cut me out of a conversation on purpose, not when I was standing right next to you. You would never be so rude! Would you?"

BA growled and Face sighed in exasperation. "Look, there's nothing going on," he said. "Why will nobody trust me?"

BA looked unconvinced but had lived a long time with Peck's half truths and downright lies so he simply shrugged. Murdock pouted. "I just wanted….." he began.

"Enough!" Peck spoke over him. "You guys talk too much!" he said with a wry grin. Not wishing further discussion, he closed his eyes and let the warm relaxation flow through his weary body. Deep inside a little voice told him he should come clean with his friends, he should tell BA the truth but he quietened that voice with the expert skill he had gained from long practice at ignoring his conscience. After the company and the large amount of alcohol he had consumed, he felt a warm, contented feeling seeping over him and he did not want to puncture the soft cocoon in which he imagined himself to be. So he pushed it all away. It could all wait, it would all wait. He just wanted to drift off…

"It's gonna be OK, Face." He heard the familiar tone but it did not cut into his silky reverie instead it lapped at the edges of his awareness. Peck opened his eyes lazily and saw the ghostly vision of the grey haired Colonel. "It's not gonna be long now," Smith continued, the spark in his eyes dancing like the flames of the fire earlier. "I'm gonna bring you home, son."

Peck gulped. He tried to find his voice as he sat forwards. "Hannibal," he croaked and then more loudly. "Hannibal?"

"What?" BA sat up and Murdock stiffened beside him. "Who you talking to, Face?" the big man asked.

As soon as BA's voice uttered the words the apparition before Face blinked out of existence. BA stared at him, eyes wide, demanding an answer.

"You Ok, Face?" Murdock's voice was softer but his eyes were as questioningly wide as his friend's.

Peck gulped again and sat up abruptly. He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated. BA glared at him. "Did you say Hannibal?" he asked.

Peck snorted, looked away from those two wide curious pairs of eyes, away out to the black velvet blanket that was the sea. "I… eh….I.." Words would not come and he licked his lips nervously.

BA shook his head. "You as mad as Murdock!" he said but his tone was soft and supportive. "We all miss him, brother but you got to move on. Make a new life. He would want that."

Peck nodded. "I know BA, sometimes I just… I just miss him so much."

BA sighed. "Time we was all in bed," he said as he climbed to his feet, effortlessly lifting the form of his petite and still sleeping wife in his arms. Peck smirked and Murdock stifled a giggle. "I didn't mean that," BA glowered challengingly. "Not how you two took it anyway!"

* * *

The night was hot; the sweat dripping off Peck as he tossed and turned in the bed, suffering a familiar nightmare. The emotion, and the fear, tore at him, racing across tense, tight muscles and pulling him awkwardly out from the oblivion of sleep. It was raw and intense and terrifying, forcing him to feel, petrifying him completely; so he lay on the bed, sweating and motionless, every part of his body imprisoned by his anxiety.

As he came closer to consciousness it was the same old sensation; he had but a vague memory of what he had experienced just seconds before but he knew he had felt it before. He gulped in air violently, and then forced his breaths to come in and out more slowly, pressed the panic and the pain away, concentrating on nothing but control, until he dare move again.

He glanced at Murdock who appeared to be sleeping soundly beside him on the bed. The pilot snored softly and the sight brought Peck a brief rush of relief that he had not disturbed his companion. Lying back into the pillow, Peck tried to remember exactly what he had been dreaming.

He was afraid and he could recall the sense of loss but also of deep desperation. He glanced at the clock. It read 1.18. A strong wave of relief flushed through him at that but he did not understand why. Then it came to him; he had survived! But survived what? From deep in the depths of his subconscious he managed to drag forth the fact that he had believed he was going to die for something. But what? It had all appeared so real in his dream, so obvious but he could only remember his sense of complete certainty, the actual facts remained illusively out of his reach. He snorted, forcing his mind to think. He was going to die at 11 o'clock… there was something he had not done, something he had forgotten and for that he was going to die!

He rolled over and sat up, throwing his legs out of the bed. What the hell did it mean? Why had everything appeared so obvious? What mistake had he made? Who had he misjudged and why couldn't he remember it now?

He hated this all too frequent feeling of his mind running away from him. He wanted to be in control, he wanted to be sure but uncertainty ravaged through him. He sighed. The most frustrating thing of all was that in his dream he recalled that he had accepted his own death as if it was correct, as a punishment for something he had failed to compensate for. He knew he had acknowledged that it was a fitting and deserved conclusion but he could remember no more, hard as he tried. Something he hadn't done, something important…..

"Shit!" he muttered, ignoring the fear that was pooling inside his gut once more, knew it wasn't going to help him.

Three weeks since he had been released from prison and he had tried to put his life back together but the dream was getting worse, becoming more frequent, more intense and more frightening. He had a terrible sense of dread at what was to come and no matter how much Murdock tried to reassure him, he just could not shake it.

"What's up?" Murdock cut into his thoughts, sitting up behind him, gently reaching out to place a supporting hand on Peck's trembling shoulders. He passed across a glass of water, from which Face took a long gulp.

Peck returned the glass, lowered his head to rest in his hands, and his elbows his knees, his hair falling into his eyes. "I got such an overwhelming feeling of doom. Can't shake it, Murdock; something bad is going to happen."

"Bad?"

Peck nodded. "Real bad."

Murdock snorted. "How long have you been having this dream now, Face?"

Peck drew in a long, tired breath. "A year," he guessed.

"And you're still here."

"Yes but…."

"That's what we gotta hold on to, Face. No matter what is around the corner, we're here now and we gotta make the best of it. You can't control your dreams but you can live through them – I know you can. They're just that crazy old mind of yours playing games with you, believe me, I know these things. Now come on back to bed, you are so tired."

Peck yawned and allowed Murdock's unrelenting hands to gently ease him back on to the bed. "It's just a dream, Facey, it can't hurt you; not if you don't let it!"

Murdock began to softly stroke along Peck's chest and arms, his touch surprisingly light and feathered. Peck felt his eyelids becoming incredibly heavy as he gave himself up to the relaxation that oozed from his partner's touch. He was tired, soul shrinkingly tired, and he craved sleep so much. Murdock's hands moved over his clenched, taunt muscles, gently kneading them and the tight tension from deep within was suddenly released. Unintentionally Face let out a deep, long sigh and Murdock smiled.

"Sleep, Faceyman," he whispered and continued his massage until he was sure Peck was in a deep sleep.

* * *

It appeared at once to have the steadfastness of the hunter and the slyness of the long sought after quarry. The black figure moved stealthily through the night from one dark shadow to the next, hugging the anonymity, melting into the safe nothingness and then daring to venture furtively forth again, only to take a few steps before being swallowed by the next accumulation of shade.

As unremitting as the waves on the beach, it passed onwards, over the white picket fence, up to the porch, and silently bent to force the lock of the door. Once through the door, it paused, straining to hear any noise but the house and all inside it slept soundlessly; nothing penetrated the slumber.

The figure moved onwards, through the kitchen and along the hall way, up the couple of stairs to stop, gloved hand on door knob, as if drawing in one last gasp of courage. Then it opened the door and moved purposely toward the bed.

The engagingly rumpled figure lay there, lost in the obliviousness of sleep; handsome features peaceful and appearing to be untouched by time, silvering golden hair ruffled on the pillow as he breathed deeply and peacefully; he appeared to all intents and purposes an angel fallen to earth – so serene, so beautiful, so powerless. Templeton Peck slept, ironically for once at peace with the world.

The figure of blackness stood over the bed and then silently lifted its hand menacingly……..

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Part 9**

The engagingly rumpled figure lay there, lost in the obliviousness of sleep; handsome features peaceful and appearing to be untouched by time, silvering golden hair ruffled on the pillow as he breathed deeply and peacefully; he appeared to all intents and purposes an angel fallen to earth – so serene, so beautiful, so powerless. Templeton Peck slept, ironically for once at peace with the world.

The figure of blackness stood over the bed and then silently lifted its hand menacingly……..

………………. The sinister silence seemed to hang tantalisingly on the air for a whole heartbeat and then it was dashed away by a flurry of movement. The lights clicked on brightly, the door was slammed shut with a loud bang and something moved behind the looming figure. And on the bed blue, angelic eyes opened, the quilt was thrown back to reveal the harsh form of a magnum that was thrust forward into the new arrival's chest at point blank range.

The figure took an obvious gulp and then pulled itself together, and the face cracked into an overconfident grin. "Hey, Peck, isn't that yet another violation of your parole?" The voice was calm and arrogant. "Nice gun though."

Peck stared, his mouth dropping open in surprise. "Robby?" he breathed. "Robby Blake?" He lowered the gun.

The kid did a mock bow. "The one and only!" his grin was growing even wider by the second.

Murdock cleared his throat and moved from his position behind the door further into the room, his gun still trained on the centre of Blake's back. "This a friend of yours, Face?" he growled doing his best BA impression.

Peck nodded. "Yeah. This is Robby Blake – we were in jail together. Robby, this is HM Murdock, my eh… my friend."

Blake rolled his eyes as Murdock stiffened at the rather ambiguous introduction but chose to ignore it. Then the boy reached out his hand. "I remember, from visiting time."

Murdock disregarded the outstretched hand. "Strange time of day to come calling, isn't it?" he spat.

Blake overlooked the threat inherent in Murdock's surly tone and the pilot's body language. "You know me, Peck," he beamed at the older man still sitting in bed. "Never one to follow the rules, eh?"

Peck chuckled. "Sure," he agreed. He pulled himself off the bed. "You want a drink?" he asked.

Blake nodded. "Yeah, that would be cool," he looked slightly uncomfortable. "I got something to ask you, anyway."

Peck threw a friendly arm around the kid's shoulder. "All in good time," he responded, manoeuvring towards the door. "First let's have a drink."

Murdock felt a sudden surge of emotion twist deep in his gut. This stranger instantly set his alarm bells ringing – who the hell came calling at this time of night? And if he had to, why not knock instead of breaking and entering? The pilot hesitated, licked his lips and tried to rationalise his irrational emotion. He tried to tamp it down but the seed of doubt now planted in his mind was going to be very difficult to weed out. He shivered – he wasn't jealous, surely?

Quickly he put away his gun and moved to take care of Peck's which had been abandoned on the night stand next to the bed. What the hell was he thinking? This was a friend of Face's, a guy who had helped him through the hell of prison – surely he deserved the benefit of the doubt? Walking down the hall Murdock stopped as he heard loud laughter coming from the front room. He forced his features in to a smile as he entered the room, Blake and Peck had broken open a bottle of whiskey and were sitting side by side on the couch.

"Murdock!" Peck welcomed him. "Want a drink?" His voice already sounded slurred but whether that was the remnant of the sleep he had been so rudely awoken from or from the cool mind-numbing alcohol already imbibed, Murdock did not know.

He recognised that Face was in full 'welcome host' mode and he knew with a deep certainty he really couldn't face this scene, not now. He shook his head. "No, I'm fine. If you're sure you're OK I'm gonna hit the sack." He waited for Peck to argue but the familiar features simply smiled blandly back at him.

"OK fine, Robby and I have got some catching up to do."

Murdock nodded, feeling strangely uncomfortable in his own home. "I'll see you later."

Peck nodded. "Tomorrow, yeah!"

Murdock hesitated once more. What the hell did that mean? Tomorrow? Peck wasn't coming back to bed at all? Or more worryingly that he did not want Blake to know he and Murdock shared the same bed? That they were lovers? Murdock snorted. He had been in similar situations before but after the expression of intimacy on the beach at the party, Peck seemed to be more at ease with the relationship, more happy to touch and be touched, especially in public. But now he was disavowing the closeness as he had in the very beginning. Murdock wondered if he should fight but he suddenly felt overwhelmingly exhausted and lacked the stamina to force a scene.

"OK, see you," Murdock acquiesced sadly and turned to go back to the bedroom, the fears crashing around his head destroying his peace of mind. He lay awake crucifying himself as the voices murmured in the other room and the laughter became more frequent and louder.

In the self critical malaise that Murdock had spiralled into, he reproached himself; Face had never laughed like this, well not in a long time. Face never seemed to be this happy – not with him anyway. Maybe it was time to face the facts; they just were not meant to be. He could not make Face happy. Or more accurately; there were other people that Face would be happier with. He had stayed with Murdock out of sympathy and because of the past – he did not like to leave the clinging emotional cripple that the pilot had become. But he would never be happy – he needed what Murdock could never give him and that was what drove him into the arms of others.

Really it would be better for them both. So alone in the dark old neurosis and fears began to claw at the pilot. And, though his rational mind told him he was being stupid, the insanity that had once ruled him began to gather at the edge of his consciousness ready to swoop in and seize control. Tenaciously Murdock clung to his trust in Peck but deep inside the little voice whispered, 'Why trust a conman?' And Murdock's mind lurched fearfully once more.

* * *

"Wow, is this really your car?" Blake beamed his boyish enthusiasm bubbling over making him appear even younger than his years and so attractive to somebody he yearned for youth. 

Peck chuckled proudly. "Yeah," he replied.

The kid moved forward and ran his hand lovingly over the sleek paintwork and the shining chrome. "Shit! It is one hot car!" He looked back over his shoulder, eyes wide in reverence. "How does she go?"

As their eyes met Peck felt something deep inside of him wriggle with excitement – those eyes burning with admiration and awe, all focused on him! He could not resist it, did not want to and something deep inside him questioned belligerently why should he even try? "Like the wind!" he answered boosting shamelessly.

"Show me!" Blake asked. "Take me for a ride!"

Peck ran his hand through his hair. "Well I …." he began, casting a glance out of the garage towards the house. "Murdock wants me to…" He looked back then and was skewered anew by the bounteous promise in those eyes filled with the wonder of youth. Peck longed so very dearly for what he had lost, and knew he could never resist it personified in the boy before him.

"Please," Blake pleaded softly. "Since I was a kid I've always wanted a blast in a Viper!"

It was the morning after he had arrived in such unusual circumstances. As they had shared the whiskey the night before, Blake had disclosed to Peck that he had been released from prison earlier that day. He had lied to his parole officer about going home since he dare not face his brutal father and the beating he was obviously due. On realising he had no where else to stay, he had come to find Peck. Peck had written to him in prison with a return address, so he had not been difficult to find.

Feeling merrily drunk and more relaxed than he had in a while, Peck had blithely offered for Blake to stay with him as long as he wanted.

"What about Mr Murdock?" Blake had asked.

Peck had shrugged nonchalantly. "Don't worry," he had slurred. "HM's a pussy cat. – he'll be fine with it!"

"I don't want to cramp your style," Blake had pushed.

Ignoring the voice of his conscience with ease Peck had giggled drunkenly. "Cramp my style? No one can cramp my style!" he said effusively.

"But I thought you and Murdock were…."

Peck threw his hand around Blake's shoulders and slumped slightly into the younger man. "Friends," he said. "S'all!"

Blake looked at him unconvinced and the rational part of Peck's brain screamed at him – what the hell was he talking about? But the warm dullness of the alcohol overrode his thoughts with fogginess and he simply smiled up at Blake.

"Oh," Blake said nodding slowly. "That's OK then."

"S'OK." Peck confirmed and rested his head, which had suddenly grown too heavy to hold up, on the other man's shoulder, smiling contentedly.

Peck had not felt quite so happy, however, earlier the next morning when he had woken with a thumping ache banging in his head like a rapper's bass, his mouth felt like somebody had wiped their feet in it and he had the overwhelming urge to vomit. He had groaned and managed to open one eye – the bed beside him was empty. The light burnt his retina, so he closed it quickly. How the hell had he got to bed last night? He could remember talking with Robby and a couple of glasses of whiskey but then…….

…………Shit! It was at that point that his eject button had been actioned and he staggered out of bed, making it to the bathroom just in time!

That had been three hours ago and Peck had fought down the queasiness in his stomach, ignored Murdock's questioning glances and drunk copious amounts of water, so that now he was beginning to feel human again. And the adoring twinkle in Blake's eyes was giving him the final impetus to find himself.

"I guess a quick spin won't make any difference," he said, once more finding it easy to ignore his conscience. "Hop in!"

With a throaty roar he adroitly backed the car out of the garage and on to the road. Gunning the motor, he chose not to see Murdock waving for him to stop and they were gone, squealing down the road like a dragster.

Murdock stood on the porch shaking his head slowly. He drew in a long breath, his fears of the night before had lessened a little with the bright shining morning sunshine. He had been prepared to give Robby Blake the benefit – after all if he was Face's friend then he had to be a good guy. He had even managed to ignore Peck being sick after his excesses the previous night and made small talk with the kid who had woken up on his couch, over coffee. Blake seemed OK but….

Murdock shook his head again. "Faceyman," he whispered as he turned back to go into the house. "I hope you know what you're doing."

Peck had floored it down the freeway and Blake had shrieked with glee. They had swapped over and Blake was even more excited. He drove like a complete maniac when he got the chance of having all that power under his gas foot. Peck had watched him and felt a corresponding burning sensation deep inside.

Blake had taken them up to the hills, screaming with exhilaration as they flew past the other traffic as if it were stationary. Then he whipped the wheel around in his hands and came to a dusty, brake squealing stop on a pull off at the side of the road. They sat silently for a moment, both breathing heavily as the adrenaline thrilled around their bodies. Below them the sprawling mass of LA stretched out as far as the eye could see in every direction.

Blake turned to regard his passenger. "Fuck that was fun!" he said.

Peck smiled at his lusty zest. "Glad you liked it!"

Blake hesitated, his tongue running over his lips nervously. "I wanted to get you alone, Peck," he said softly. "I have a confession to make."

Peck threw a wary look around him, still unable to feel safe in a public place after so many years being on the run.

Very slowly Blake lifted his hand from the wheel and moved it towards Peck's knee. "I never thanked you properly," he began. "Not for saving me in the shower!"

Peck looked down at the moving hand as if mesmerised by it. He gulped. "It doesn't matter. We talked about this already and I…"

"I owe you," Blake's eyes were wide and unflinching. He moved his other hand to run down Peck's flushed cheek. "Fast cars always make me randy as hell," he continued.

"I don't think this is…" Peck began.

"Oh come on," Blake's voice was soft but compelling. "Whose gonna know? It's what you want; what you've always wanted since you first saw me. I've seen the need in your eyes. I just want to thank you." As he spoke he leaned forward until his lips were only inches from Peck's. With a broad smile, he moved the last little distance and enveloped Peck's mouth with his lips. Peck shuddered but did not move away, instead he let out a deep groan, lifted his arms up to embrace Blake and opened his mouth, allowing the boy's tongue entrance.

They embraced in a long, passionate kiss and Blake began to fervently run his hands through Peck's hair and down his back, ravishing with his touch.

Suddenly Peck pushed the younger man away. In a flurry of movement he was out of the car, staggering on shuddering legs through the dirt.

"Peck!" Blake called. "Wait! I didn't mean to…." He hopped out of the car to give chase.

Peck had stopped a few feet away, shivering uncontrollably, his arms clutched to his chest cuddling himself. "What is wrong with me?" he asked, despair welling the tears in his eyes. His body tense and taunt drawn together by sheer emotion.

Blake stopped before him, his mouth hung in uncertainty "Wrong with you? Nothing, nothing at all!"

Peck ran his hand through his hair. "I make so many fuck ups!" he said.

Blake snorted, reached out to place his hand on Peck's shoulder. "Hey, calm down. You and me, we've both seen enough to know that life ain't pretty and it'll screw you, more often than not. You got to take what you can, Peck, you got to make sure you get your share of good things and it don't matter who you crawl over or who you hurt to get it!"

Peck sighed and shook his head. "You sound so much like me when I was your age, Robby!"

"So? You were right!"

"No, I was not." He let out a long, deep sigh. "I got to go home."

"Peck, I'm not asking for your commitment, I don't want your devotion. Just a little fun – what can be wrong with that?"

"Nothing, Robby, nothing at all. It's just not what I need. I got somebody who can give me all of that stuff and more." He began to walk slowly back to the car. "I don't know why he puts up with me but he does. Take me home, Robby!"

"But….."

"No. I can be strong. I can say no. I need to think about this and I need to talk to Murdock, I badly need to talk to Murdock. What I don't need is another fuck up and neither do you. We shouldn't be together – even that breaches our parole. I think you should go home, Robby. Go talk to your dad, try and start again. Don't give up on him, just cos he's given up on you. Somebody very important to me taught me that along time ago."

* * *

TBC 


	10. Chapter 10

This chapter is for Anke who is always telling me she wants more of Face's POV. Well, believe it or not, when I started writing this series that was exactly what I had in mind to do too. However Templeton is an elusive, little conman who constantly manages to deflect attention away from himself to the other characters! But no matter, I've sat him down, we've had a heart to heart and the next chapter will exclusively reveal his true feelings...

...I think!

* * *

**Part 10**

Damaged that was him!

Peck had known for a long time and chosen to ignore it. Then when he finally allowed himself to acknowledge it, it had been easy to lay the blame elsewhere – never take the responsibility, make it someone else's problem. But even then he had known there was going to come a time when he not only had to admit it, he also had to recognize that it was a part of him. And he had to accept the savage truth that he was always going to end up at some point in his life when he finally found the courage, bleakly reviewing just what a mess he had made of things.

Oh, he had denied it and forced it away for sure but somewhere deep in his soul where he allowed the truth to exist, be it tightly controlled, he had known this day would come and he would have to face it. Well the day was here!

He was sitting on the porch, having dropped Robby Blake off at his parole officer's place. Kid would survive it, Peck was sure. He would maybe even take his advice and go and see his dad. Blake may get the beating he feared but he may never get a second chance and Peck didn't want the kid getting to the same age he had before he found the courage to have the conversation with himself.

Murdock had been cool when he got back but distant and Peck had found he could not look his lover in the eye. Trust Murdock – he knew Peck even better than he knew himself and he must have seen that this was what the conman needed; to be alone with himself, to face his fear; to finally examine exactly what he was.

So Peck was sitting on the porch in the warm evening sunshine. In front of him the white picket fence – God if only it was as easy to fulfil the dream as it was to get the fence! Peck smiled, let himself remember the house hunting he had Murdock had done before they finally found this little house in a quiet sleepy part of town. Nothing like the places he had scammed in the past but Murdock had nodded with approval when Peck had chosen it; nothing like the pretence that he had lived with for years, maybe this was something else?

Stop it! He mentally pulled himself back, away from thoughts of fences and houses, when it came to having this conversation with himself he was a master at getting sidetracked on to anything and everything. But not this time. This time he was going to do it!

So how far had he got? Oh yes; damaged! That's why he let himself get into these messes; that's why he let it all happen. He was supposed to be a mature man now, supposed to be over his youthful folly, supposed to be able to say no to temptation. He shook his head slowly; Templeton had always found temptation hard; he had never quite managed to understand the concept of fidelity completely, and certainly never managed to put it into practise!

He remembered Lesley, so many years ago now. But he could breathe the scent of her like she was here today, standing on the porch; immaculate, beautiful and full of the joys of youth. He wondered for the thousandth time if she was the root of his problems, if her rejection of him had sent him into this downward spiral. If she had not walked away, if she had given herself to him like she had promised, would he have evolved into this damaged, selfish soul?

So that was it then! Easy really – why had he bothered putting off this conversation for so long? His problems started and ended with that bitch Lesley Bectall and all that he had done since could be traced back to her!

But wait – Lesley was no bitch, in fact she was one of the most selfless, caring individuals he had ever met. And wasn't he supposed to be being honest with himself even though the concept still scared him half to death? There was no use in giving her the blame. If he was going to examine his own character failings, he had to look well before Lesley and accept that her rejection of him was just her acceptance of the fact that he was irredeemable, even then. He was not good enough for her, never came close and thus the option of marriage had never really been an option. She had finally seen the truth; she was better off becoming a nun, marrying God – what sort of a message should that have given him if he hadn't been too arrogant to see it?

So if his flaws came well before Lesley maybe they were genetic? Yeah, that made sense; AJ Bancroft – a man it was so easy to blame. Bancroft ran away from him and even at the very end, he didn't have the guts to come clean and tell him the truth, confess to his only son. This fear of commitment, this inability to make anything last and this overwhelming desire to press the self destruct button whenever any one came close – his father's fault, obviously!

Or his mother maybe – Samantha, a name he could roll off his tongue but was never quite able to put a face to. She was a passing memory; a smell of sweetness and a sense of warmth in the gathering gloom. But she had given him away, not wanted him either. Was that a defect in her, or something she saw in him? For all his cute wide eyed smile, blue eyes and snowy blonde hair, had she seen the thing in him that had sent her away? She could have kept him if she'd really wanted, surely a child of her womb, born of her blood, what could have stopped her from keeping him, if not what she saw in him?

Peck gulped. Both sets of genes then – parents who ran a mile when commitment came calling at their door. How easy to lay the blame on them and exonerate himself entirely, especially because neither were there to argue their case and never would be.

How easy to deal it all out, like a croupier at a blackjack table – apportion the blame to everyone else except himself. Lesley, parents and then of course there was his childhood, don't forget that! A time of constant impermanence and upheaval when all he craved for was structure and routine – one children's home to another, one set of people to the next! Was it any wonder that he had never felt he could call anywhere his home? Instead he slipped from one bed to another – a habit he would keep even in adulthood – taking all he could and keeping all he was deep inside, locked away, never allowing it to come near enough to the surface so it could be hurt again. Never allowing himself to feel closeness, never allowing anyone to reject him without him rejecting them first. Never, never, never!

But lust he was good at, oh man he was good! From the first fumbling with little pre-teen girls his own age, through the pain and invasion of bigger, stronger boys and men attracted by his blonde, angelic looks and his thin, tight body, to the prostitutes of Vietnam and the brutal, base attack on his body in General Chow's bamboo hut as the sweat ran like rivers down his back and the grunts of the Viet Cong soldier who rutted on him were silenced by the screaming deep in his soul. Lust everywhere!

And then the women! Oh the women! Thousands of them; beautiful, vacuous and so shallow – all of them there to satiate the lust in him. But though they administered to his physical need they never touched the orphan boy deep inside; the boy who craved nothing but love and who always slept alone, no matter who shared his bed.

The boy that even now screamed from within his mature, aging body; leaping to be touched by anyone and everyone; still not able to believe that he was worthy enough to be truly cherished for his own sake.

For that was the crux of it; Peck allowed himself to think the awful truth, the truth he had ignored for so long. He had grown up in a world devoid of love; there was duty and a certain amount of order but no love. And so he had no comprehension, could not understand what true love was, did not even know what it looked like. He had never experienced that nurtured feeling, the calm certainty on going to bed that all would be the same in the morning; that his family would still be there to love him. He had never seen his parents share caring, meaningless kisses that meant so much; never had them take him into their embrace and share with him, the person that their love had made, that sweetness. Never, never, never!

Maybe he had not been made in love at all but in lust – a wild mad animal passion that stirred the loins with the need for immediate gratification and then evaporated away with the coming of the morning sun. That passion he could understand although he did not fit the bill with that either since nine months later a night of fervour produced an unwanted, unneeded soul - him.

He sighed. His muscles felt suddenly cramped, so he stood up, moving slightly to lean on the rail. Across the way Mr Liebowitz was cutting his grass. Mr Liebowitz was about the same age as Peck – his grass was always tidy, he had a pretty if fading wife, two strong sons and a daughter, who last fall had presented him with his first grand child. Peck waved to him now and Mr Liedowitz waved back happily. Mr Liebowitz understood what love was but Peck did not, never had; so when he had finally experienced it, in the soft, forgiving form of his beautiful pilot, no wonder he did not recognise it. Instead he believed it was the emotion he had mistakenly thought of as love all these years – lust and lust was only ever transitory.

Lust Peck could do easily, lust he knew how to satisfy, indeed he was an artist at it but love, love was different. He saw it now. Love was alien and frightening and so he dealt with it as he dealt with everything else he did not understand in his life- he ran away. He had run away from it for thirty years then he had kidded himself he had faced up to it when he finally started the relationship with Murdock but that wasn't true. Standing on the porch, being brutally honest with himself he knew he was still running!

He just had to replay this morning in his head, or any other night when somebody, anybody, offered him the chance of lust. He leapt at it every time – Lorelei, Robby, countless others on the long list of short, sad goodbyes that his lovers had been consigned to.

Love frightened him too much. Love pulled at his heart and made him contemplate commitment; made him promise forever and he knew well from his experience of life that there was no forever – no one could deliver that. Better to strangle love at birth, better to push it away or drown it with the bodily juices of physical lust; better that than allow it to control him, to build his expectation to levels that never could be fulfilled. Better the little pain of betrayal focused on him than his own ultimate heart ache later.

He saw it clearly now. Lesley and his parents and the seemingly endless possession of prospective adoptive families who always seemed to be initially attracted to his pretty packaging but never pursued him further – could they see it in him too? – had taught him when he was still naive enough to believe in happy endings that he was never going to get one. And he had spent the rest of his life behaving in ways that ensured that would be the case.

The only people he had ever loved had been the Team. But that was a manly love born from the shared horrors of firstly Nam and then the years on the run. Hannibal he had loved like the father he had wanted all of his life. It still gave him a warm fuzzy feeling when he remembered the night long ago when the Colonel had made him one of the Team. Damaged he had been sure but not so badly so that there wasn't something deep inside that Colonel Smith could salvage and he had. And BA, the big brother he had never had. If BA had been there to protect him he would never have fallen foul of the petty, sexual deviants that feasted on pretty orphanage boys. He would never have built up the deep lack of confidence deep in his soul, that overwhelming certainty that he was never going to be good enough, try as hard as he might. But he had met them both too late, when his flaws were already entwined into the being he was and his course was set. Oh for a few short years they had controlled him enough so that he could be good but as soon as the iron hand of the Colonel was lifted from his life, he floundered like he was always bound to. He was grateful for the time they had given him and the chance to be a part of a family that he had always craved but they had not taught him about passionate, real love. Not taught him what he saw now to be an undeniable truth – he feared to understand love.

No, he had to look for another source for that knowledge.

Murdock was different, had always been so. Right from the very beginning, Murdock had slipped under his radar like the talented pilot he was, quietly and stealthily and oh so slowly. Murdock needed him like no other being ever had. Murdock had been so damaged he had allowed himself to unravel and lost everything but he had come back and Peck had helped in that process. Murdock understood love and he loved the worthless conman. Murdock touched him deep inside and no amount of pushing away was ever strong enough to dislodge him from that precious place he inhabited in Peck's heart. Murdock hung on, stubborn and stuck tight like a limpet. Murdock understood him and compensated for Peck's flaws, even when he hurt him deeply, even like last night and today. In short Murdock loved him with all the madness in his soul, and Peck knew from experience that there was a goddamn lot there!

Standing on the porch, Peck felt tears spring into his eyes. It did not matter about his past; it did not matter about his genetic flaws nor his personality problems that had stored up over the years. It did not matter whose fault any of it was. Murdock would forgive him everything and Peck would always return to those loving arms because Murdock simply made him better.

As if on cue Peck heard him now, rustling behind him to announce his presence. How did he know that Peck had come to the end of his pondering? That he was ready to talk? How did he do that?

He turned to see the crumpled figure of his dreams – flapping T shirt, faded denims, and baseball cap; strange uniform for his personal redeemer but fitting nonetheless. "I am an idiot," Peck said softly.

"I know," Murdock agreed, squeezing in behind him to sit somewhat precariously on the rail. His eyes were attractively sparked in the shaded porch by compassion and empathy.

Peck gulped, ran his hand through his hair and Murdock drank in the familiar gestures but did not speak. He knew that Peck had been beating himself up and he knew it was something he had to do. It was true – confession is good for the soul, particularly tormented Catholic boys who constantly failed to acknowledge their perfection because of their impractical and unsolvable emphasis over a few stupid, insignificant flaws.

"You know me; any bit of tail and I have to chase it!" Peck giggled unconvincingly.

Murdock nodded. "I think it must be pre-programmed into your DNA."

"I didn't … that is Robby and I didn't … we kissed but we…. I said no…"

Murdock snorted. "You want a medal?"

"Maybe a thrashing would be better."

"Whoa! Don't want any of that sort of stuff here. It's a nice neighbourhood – what would Mr Liebowitz say? Anyway I'm pleased to hear nothing happened, although it doesn't really matter. I had the green eyed monster for awhile but I'm over it now."

"You did?"

"Contrary to what you think I am not a saint, Face." He smiled smugly. "Well maybe I am, cos I realised that no body else would put up with you – not like I do."

Peck sighed, sat back down on the chair, making sure his knee was in contact with Murdock's leg, feeling the electricity that sparked between them. "Lust and love – why can't I tell the difference, Murdock?"

"Oh you can, Face – you're a smart boy. You just choose not to, when it suits you."

"You know me too well."

"Yes, I do."

They sat quietly for awhile and watched Mr Liebowitz finishing his chores.

Finally Peck said, "You shouldn't forgive me so easily."

"Oh, it's not easy, believe me. But I'm a born optimist and I keep on hoping that maybe this time it will be different. Maybe this time you'll understand."

"I'm pretty stupid, aren't I?"

"Only when you want to be, which is, of course, quite often."

"I don't deserve you, Murdock."

"Oh but you do Templeton. My old grandmother – remember her? She was very clear on it – we always get what we deserve in this life. And I deserve you. Come here!"

Peck hitched off the chair and threw himself into Murdock's arms, the safest place he had ever known and the nearest that he would ever come to calling his home. They cuddled together for long moments and then Peck pulled away.

"Don't thank me!" Murdock said quickly. "You can do that later right now I want to talk to you about something that's important."

"And this wasn't?" Peck rolled his eyes but waited patiently as Murdock went back into the house. He came back carrying something long and quite heavy, a few minutes later.

"Not as important as this, Face! Perhaps you would take this new honest approach to your life a little further and explain to me why I found a sniper rifle in your closet?"

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TBC 


	11. Chapter 11

**Part 11**

"Closet? Do I have a closet?"

Murdock snorted. "Right between the door and the window, in the bedroom – that large wooden box shaped thing, even you can't miss it, surely."

Peck looked blank. "And it's mine?" he asked. Murdock nodded as the other man continued. "Which means that no one else, even you, should be rooting about in it?"

Murdock shook his head slowly, and sitting down on the other chair placed the rifle with great care down on to the table in front of them. "Don't play the innocent, wounded party with me, Face!" he snapped impatiently. "I was putting away some of your shirts that I ironed, not rooting around – it wasn't exactly well hidden!"

"Well I didn't think anyone would be looking!" Peck snapped, his appealing features colouring and his jaw twitching angrily.

"So what is it?" Murdock refused to be distracted from the case in point.

Peck gulped, seeing the steely resolve in his lover's eyes and flicking through the alternative strategies he could use. "It's a rifle," he said dully when he could come up with no better tactic.

"Very good, Face," Murdock nodded. "What's it doing in our house?"

Peck shrugged. "I didn't… erm.. I…"

"Lost for words again? It's becoming quite a habit with you! Let me help; how did you get it?" Murdock was not to be denied, his eyes probing Peck's submissive, guilty glance trying to hold it challengingly as it passed fleetingly around the room, resting no where for long and certainly not near his inquisitor.

"Robby," Peck sighed eventually, those wondering eyes finding the table top in front of him suddenly hugely interesting.

"Oh, the blue eyed wonder boy – why am I not surprised?" Murdock shook his head. "Jeez, you two don't take this parole business serious at all, do you?"

Peck lifted a nervous hand to his neck and fumbled with his tie. He cleared his throat with an uneasy groan. He looked up and Murdock rolled his eyes in encouragement. "It seems kind of stupid now," Peck confessed, "But when we talked about in prison, it seemed the best way out and that whiskey went straight to my head – I couldn't think straight." Peck sighed. "It sorta looked plausible then."

"What did?"

"Robby said I should take Lorelei out. She was the cause of all my problems, if I got rid of her I would be OK, I would be free of it all."

Murdock snorted. "And I'm the one whose supposed to be mad!" he muttered.

Peck gulped again, his face colouring deeper. "It does sound a bit stupid like I said," he ended lamely.

"Face, you just spent one hundred twenty one days in prison, and we barely survived it. How the hell do you think you're gonna cope with a life sentence or worse? How are we gonna cope with that? And how the hell does that make you free? Shit – what is going on in your head, muchado? You done some pretty dumb things in your time but this is just too stupid for words!"

Peck ran his hands through his hair. Murdock noted how much they were shaking and a wave of sympathy rushed through him. Face appeared to be even more affected than he feared. He reached out gently enveloping the quivering hands in his own. "You ain't gonna hit shit with an itch like this, Face. Man, you must be desperate!"

Peck nodded, his eyes closed for a second and he remembered how it had been years ago, how in the jungles of Vietnam the Colonel had taught him what true control had been; how just the feel of his sniper rifle had brought him a calmness, a sureness, a serenity which he now could only dream of. Maybe that was the real reason he found himself drawn to the weapon, not that he wanted to use it to kill but he wanted to remember that feeling of composure that had oozed through his body at the moment before he took the killing shot. He wanted that moment of supreme power; he needed to feel it again.

Shit! When had his life spun out of control this badly? When had he resorted to just clinging on by the finger nails instead of striding froth and boldly influencing his own path. When had he become the twig swirling powerlessly before the eddy of fate instead of the powerful wave pushing the useless flotsam before him?

He looked back up into Murdock's eyes and the pilot read the reckless thoughts there. "It ain't gonna save anything, babe," the pilot whispered softly.

Peck nodded. "I know, but I have to do something Murdock. I can't let this fear eat me away. I need to take control."

"You can beat Lorelei, Face but not this way. We can beat her together and do it within the law, so we can walk away, so we can be together, so we can carry on living. Isn't that what you want?"

Peck nodded. "Of course but…."

Murdock squeezed their hands together more tightly and lifted them to his lips to kiss gently. "She's getting greedy – too many fingers in too many pies, over stretching and allowing us the chance we need. You and me, babe; we're clever enough, we know the moves, we've done it before – it'll be so easy and it'll be beautiful. She'll go down for a long time and then you'll have your life back. You'll have the control you need. And no need for sniper rifles. What do you say, babe?"

Slowly, Peck eased in hands away from under Murdock's and ran them along the weapon on the table before him. It was cold and lifeless as death but he sensed it still; the latent power reaching out to him, promising, enticing and tempting ….. how could a poor, little orphan boy walk away from the soul liberating release it offered? Wasn't he damaged all ready, what difference did one more sin matter especially one that would lead to a greater good? He didn't understand love and he never would, so why should he even try?

He looked up into Murdock's eyes so wide with love and he knew he did not understand it but he could not resist the even stronger power he saw there. He broke into his brightest smile. "I say; I love it when you get all assertive on me, Murdock," he drawled.

"Like I said before, Face, your job is to look good and let me do the thinking. Now what was it we agreed earlier about the way you are gonna thank me…."

* * *

The mission was done; he had delivered the killing shot to the Cong Colonel and turned, shouldering his trusted M21 semi-automatic sniper rifle and taking hold of the M16 that Ray offered him. Then he was running as fast as he could in a squatting position, eyes picking out the boot prints in the soft jungle mud and mind ensuring his foot landed in their exact indentation with practised precision. In front of him Ray and BA's hunched bodies bobbed up and down as they retreated through the clinging and swinging branches. Peck's adrenaline was thundering through him as the sweat washed from his pores, sticking the stinking fatigues to his skin. His dog-tags swung violently around his neck as he jumped a small stream and his helmet strap bit into the sensitive area just under his left ear where a mosquito had engaged in a feeding frenzy the night before. He ignored the small discomforts and the tiredness that fought to slow his muscles focusing instead on his own breathing, trying to control it as he furiously drew in air. 

"Down!" somebody- was it the Colonel? - ordered from over to the left.

Peck threw himself to the floor. The ground was wet and so close to his nose that the smell of festering decaying vegetation caused his nostrils to flare. Peck moved his head slightly and felt the dampness of the soil touching his cheek; it was not cool but warm and clammy, like everything else in this goddamn country. He tried to lift his head up to check what was going on around him but the strength had inexplicably deserted him, so he lay motionless, trying to breathe but his lungs seemed suddenly unable to take on oxygen.

He lay there as the harsh rat-tat of gun fire slewed over his head, bouncing dangerously off the trunks of the trees and thudding into the ground around him. He pushed his head deeper in to the mud, closing his eyes as he still fought for breath.

Time seemed to slow and the gunfire became a series of dull groans. Peck tried to move his legs but they would not answer his commands, he opened his eyes to gaze down at them and instead found himself entrapped by the movements of a shiny grey centipede on a leaf beside his head. He watched amazed at the beauty in the movement as its legs moved in perfect unison. Somewhere in his unfocused mind the memory of a spider he had caught as a kid and kept in a matchbox had sparked into life. He had classed that spider as his best friend in the particular orphanage that he had been staying at the time. But he remembered he had betrayed its friendship by allowing another boy to put it in the bed of one of the girls who was petrified of all insects. Peck snorted as a pang of guilt swept through him – the girl had squashed his spider in a screaming panic with the heel of her shoe and the kid he had leant it to had beaten him brutally because his ruse had not given as much pleasure as he had wished.

The centipede that was at the centre of his current vision and had caused the strange flight of fancy into memory, seemed to shimmer and blur; Peck shook his head but all suddenly appeared watery and indistinct as everything wavered into each other – the lines of separation were no longer apparent. A wave of nausea rushed through Peck then and his head felt so heavy he had to rest it back in the mud. His breathing was no easier and a slight feeling of disquiet budded into his mind. Shit – what the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn't he focus? Where the hell had his senses gone? His sight was so watery he could not see and the only sound his ears were reporting back was a long dull rushing noise. He gulped, tasting the metallic hint of blood in his mouth and a violent blast of thirst grabbed at him.

He was still on his front in the mud; the sniper rifle on his back, Lord knew where his M16 had gone since his hands had given up sending back signs of what they could feel. He tried to roll over but his whole body was now equally unhelpful and to make things worse as he endeavoured to do so, a sharp pain flared through him. He tried to define its source but that eluded his growingly anxious mind.

What the hell was wrong with him? The Colonel was going to kill him if he didn't get his ass in gear and move, not to mention what the VC would do to him! He tried again but no part of him was moving anywhere fast.

He forced himself to draw in a long laboured breath but even that hurt. He tried to let it out in a loud call; Ray and BA had to be quite close, surely they could come help him. His lucid mind in trying to make sense of his position, had decided he had got himself stuck somehow with the rifle on his back entangled in some branches or roots, making it impossible for him to stand. He just needed some help but his voice was as useless as the rest of him, coming out with just a pathetic moan, no louder than the breeze in the trees.

Peck snorted as the anger took him – this was just stupid. He concentrated on his hands, forcing them to move but it was hopeless. And now the grinding, burning in his lungs was getting worse. He realised with a shock that he was frightened, more frightened than he would normally be when on a regular mission with the Colonel in the jungle and running away from the VC.

There was something here he did not understand, and not understanding always made him fearful.

"Kid!" The voice cut through the thrumming in his ears and his growing panic, bringing with it on overwhelming wave of expectation.

"Col'nel!" He tried to shout back but it was a weak attempt. Shit, he had to do better than that – a paralysing fear that they would leave him here rushed through him. "Col'nel!" It was louder this time, fuelled by fear.

Then strong hands were reaching out to him and gently turning him. The muddy world before his eyes spun and he was looking up, blinking his eyes to focus on the green canopy of the jungle above him with just the odd hint of grey sky above it.

"Easy, kid," Hannibal's voice came from close by.

"I'm OK," Peck tried to say. "I just got stuck. I'm sorry." But his words just came out as an incomprehensible jumble of sounds and he stopped, gulping, as he saw the looks on the faces of the three men who knelt over him.

"Jesus!" Ray muttered and BA was shaking his head slowly.

"It's OK, kid," Hannibal said. "Hang on."

Hang on? Peck's face crumpled in puzzlement, what the hell was going on? He'd got stuck that was all, stupid but easily solved. Why were they all still standing over him, shaking their heads, why weren't they helping him to his feet, moving off? Christ, Murdock would be waiting for them at the pick up point. Why weren't they moving?

Peck squeezed his eyes together, trying to get the scene more into focus and it was then that he saw the blood dripping from Ray's hand. Still long minutes passed while his tortured brain tried to register the fact that his friend was injured but something was not right – so much blood from a hand wound? Peck was no doctor but he had had enough time in Vietnam to know that something was not quite right. Gulping he forced his involuntarily blinking eyes to follow where Ray's hand was going down and down, down to Peck's own lower abdomen.

Shit; he'd been shot!

How in hell had he missed that? How stupid could he be? This was turning out so bad. No wonder he'd been feeling so strange! No wonder his body was unable to action any on his commands. The pain that had formally drifted hazily through his whole body was suddenly pinpointed into the bullet-hole in his gut. With the realisation that he had been shot, the pain intensified into a deep agony that stole away what remained of his breath. Peck whimpered and his head fell back on to the mud as panic raged through him.

Hannibal was there again, gently lifting up Peck's head and taking hold of his flailing hands, his voice masterful and honeyed with the promise of hope. "Calm down, kid. Save your strength. Ray's just gonna apply a field dressing and give you something for the shock. Then we're out of here. Recon point is less than a click away and we'll get you to a hospital in a couple of minutes." Peck felt a cool hand on his forehead. "Breathe deep for me, kid," Hannibal's voice came again. He complied as best he could and nodded slightly as he was rewarded with; "Good boy!"

He drifted then, words like 'peritonitis', 'septic shock', 'high fever', and 'internal bleeding' along with 'petroleum jelly gauze', 'IV kit' and 'antibiotics' floated over his head but he took no note of them. Thinking was suddenly difficult to do and he stopped the process, unable to stop the numbing pain from ruling him as the blurred heads of familiar friends swam in and out of his vision. Aware only that he had fucked up yet again.

"Lieutenant!" It was the Colonel's voice pulling him back, forcing him to listen.

He licked his dry, parched lips and tried to concentrate although the drumming of his erratic heart in his ear made it difficult for him to hear. "Thirsty…" he managed to groan.

A damp piece of material was thrust into his hands. "Suck it, son," the Colonel's voice was soft. Peck felt his hands lifted and the material near his mouth. He opened and did as he was told, the moistness lessening the dryness in his throat although doing nothing to quench his heaving thirst.

"Now kid, I want you to listen to me, can you do that? Look at me, kid." The Colonel's voice was strained but no less compelling for Peck, he opened his eyes as he strove to comply. "We gotta move quick son," Hannibal continued. "I don't want to miss our ride home. BA and Ray are gonna carry you but it's gonna hurt – you OK with that kid?"

Peck nodded slowly, his eyes threatening to roll up into his head. "I don't wanna die," he said softly.

The Colonel smiled then wide and confident. "Look into my eyes, kid," he said. Peck forced himself to look into those deep blue pools, to loose himself in the comfort they promised as the Colonel continued, "You are not going to die. I will not allow it. Look into my eyes, kid, never stop looking."

"I'm scared, Col'nel," Peck whispered.

"I know, son," Hannibal squeezed Peck's cool and clammy hand. "Trust me kid, trust me. I won't let you down. Look into my eyes and keep looking. Do you trust me, son?"

"Uh-huh," Peck gulped and nodded, still staring deep into those jazz filled eyes. "I do."

"Then I'm gonna get you out of this, kid. Keep looking……"

…………….Peck sat bolt upright in the bed, sweat drying on his straining muscles as the power of the memory hit him. He gulped, shaking his head to clear it but the memory that had come to him in the dream would not budge.

He had never been able to remember with such clarity the events that had happened in the jungle the day he had been shot. Afterwards in the hospital had always been clear to him – waking up with Hannibal there, the pretty nurse – what had been her name and later the awful biting loneliness of Hawaii but he had only ever had vague recollections of the painful struggle through the trees grasping for breath and shuddering as BA and Ray laboured to carry him, the brief respite at the sight of Murdock's bird as it waited for them in the clearing, the pale look of fear that haunted the pilot's eyes as they looked on his own shuddering form and the sweet morphine injected straight into his system to deaden the pain. All a tumble of memories but now recalled into some semblance of order and sense and all punctuated by the twinkling blue eyes….

……..….blue eyes that he could see now staring at him from the corner of the bed room through the gloom.

"Hannibal?" he whispered hoarsely.

The figure stepped out of the shadows and into the light cast across the bed room by the street light outside, revealing the well loved features of the Colonel. "Hi, kid," he beamed.

"Why now, Hannibal?" Peck asked. "Why give me that particular dream, that memory now? I've forgotten it for so long. Hell I've never been able to recall half of it, and never in so much detail – the sounds, the smells, my thoughts. Christ I even saw a goddamn centipede. Why now?"

The Colonel snorted, eyes twinkling. "Because I thought it might help you understand. You could have died there but you didn't."

Peck shuddered. He glanced toward Murdock, but the pilot remained blissfully unaware as he slept on. "Understand what?" He did not want to ask the question but something forced him onwards.

"I want you to understand that your time is running out, Face." Peck gulped, shaking his head in disbelief. "But it does for us all eventually. You've had a hell of a lot longer than you could have."

Peck ran his hand through his hair, noted it was shaking again. "And that's supposed to make me feel better?"

Hannibal's smile was wide with sympathy and something more. He moved forwards so he was only inches away but Peck could tell he was resisting the urge to reach out to him with anything other than those expressive eyes, still they were enough for Peck to feel their warmth. "You have nothing to fear, Face," Hannibal said. "Put your faith in me like you did all those years ago."

"I'm scared, Col'nel," Peck whispered unknowingly regressing to the soldier boy of the dream only moments but so many years before.

"I know, son," Hannibal nodded. "Trust me kid, trust me. I won't let you down. Look into my eyes and keep looking. Do you trust me, son?"

"Uh-huh," Peck gulped and nodded, still staring deep into those jazz filled eyes, sensing the salvation there. "I do."

"Then I'm gonna get you out of this, kid. Keep looking into my eyes; keep believing in me.……"

…………."Faceman, you OK?"

At the sound of Murdock's voice, the piercing eyes and the body behind them were gone but their memory branded stunningly deep into Peck's thought. He turned to see Murdock sitting up in bed beside him and staring searchingly.

Peck nodded slowly. "I think, yes," he replied. He forced himself to lay back on the bed, forced his heart to slow the rush of pure adrenaline that had enlivened his body.

"You dreaming again?"

Peck nodded. Surprisingly finding himself wanting to speak about it he ventured softly. "About Nam."

"Nam?" Murdock was watching him closely.

Peck pursed his lips. "You remember that time after I nailed that Cong General outside Khe Sahn, when I took it in the gut?"

Murdock nodded, his memory of that awful moment when he peered through the cockpit window and saw BA and Ray pulling the pale, shivering, nearly dead form of Face into the clearing, rushing back into his head like a physical pain causing his stomach to squirm painfully.

"Was it bad?" Peck asked.

"Yeah," Murdock's voice was weak with the memory. "Man, you lost such a lot of blood. I thought… we all thought…"

"I was gonna die?"

Murdock nodded. "'Cept for the Colonel. He pulled you through it. Kept telling you to look into his eyes and trust him. And you kept clinging on to life like some brave little flea clinging to Billy's fur!"

"Nice description, HM," Peck said with a very slight smile. "I would have hoped to be seen as something a little more… well you know; memorable, dashing, handsome …. than a flea!"

Murdock shrugged. "You make a cute little flea," he said without the hint of apology. "Anyway it was the Colonel that kept you alive through that flight and before. Why, what brought this back on?"

Peck let out a long, deep sigh. "I really trusted him, didn't I?"

Murdock rolled his eyebrows expressively. "Of course."

"Then I should keep doing it shouldn't I?"

"Face, the Colonel would never lead you wrong – never did and never would. Never let any of us down. You could trust your life to him, you know that."

Peck nodded. "I think I'm going to have to trust him again," he said bleakly. "Time is running out for me ….."

* * *

TBC 


	12. Chapter 12

**Part 12**

"You're sure this guy will do?"

Amy nodded, regarding Peck critically as he sat fidgeting nervously at the other side of the table. "He fits the bill perfectly – young, ambitious, single, clever, ambitious!"

Peck nodded slowly. "Because if this goes wrong, it's his butt on the line as well as mine. I don't want any innocent into this situation. Dammit this is a mistake!"

"Easy, Face. I know you don't like involving anybody else, putting them at risk, but Simon knows the score – he's willing to accept it."

Peck snorted, looked away across the restaurant, not seeing any of the other clientele or the staff, not seeing anything at all. He was drawn tight, his muscles aching and the adrenaline thrumming through the whole of his body. He was on the jazz but he did not relish having to involve an outside party into the plan. He feared losing control, feared introducing an outside influence, a further risk; too many avenues for disaster stretched before him.

"Face," Amy's voice was calm. She reached across and laid a gentle hand on his taunt arm, felt his tension, and tried to bring him support. "It's OK. You've done all you can. Let Simon take it from here."

As if on cue the tall, dark haired journalist came back into sight as he weaved his way around the tables from the restroom. He was a cool one, this guy, even taking the time to wink suggestively at a waitress as he passed. Peck noted the corresponding smile on the pretty blonde's face and remembered with a flash of pain when it had been like that for him too.

Simon Laycock, hunk journalist and friend of Amy Allen grinned arrogantly as he sat back at the table beside her. "So do I pass?" he asked conceited brown eyes boring in to Peck.

"It isn't about passing anything, Simon," Amy butted in. "Face is just worried about putting you at risk."

"And I appreciate it, but for this story, I would risk anything. Man, I need this!"

Peck took a long swig of his mineral water, feeling suddenly very sad; had he ever been that young, that confident, that sure of himself? Of course he had! Or at least he had found it easy to appear that way for his audience. He stared at Laycock minutely and wondered if it was all an act; was quivering inside like a stranded jellyfish? It didn't really matter either way as long as the kid could pull it off. And looking deep into those brown eyes Peck could see the hunger, sense the wanting there. It appeared that Simon Laycock was gagging for this!

"OK," Peck conceded softly. His hand went to the bluff envelope he had kept on his lap for the whole meeting. He lifted it and placed it carefully down on the table equi-distant between himself and the yearning journalist.

Laycock licked his lips, his desire dripping off him, his eyes flashing from Peck's steely blue ones to the envelope greedily. He reached out a grasping hand but before he could draw it back with the prize Peck's hand was on top of his.

"It'll change your life, Simon," Peck said softly but firmly. "Break this story and things will never be the same again. You'll never be the same again. You'll never be able to sit out like this in public without fearing a cold bullet that could end it all, without wondering who is behind you, who is coming close. I lived over ten years on the run; I know what its like. Is that what you really want?"

Laycock looked up at him, eyes wide with desire and something else. "I want the fame and I want the glory," he said honestly. "The rest I can live with."

Peck held the stare for a long heartbeat. Amy looked like she was at a tennis match, her head bobbing back and forth between the men. The tension of the moment was palpable. Then with a long sigh and a tight smile, Peck lifted his hand.

Laycock drew in the envelope and ripped it open. He took out the contents – photographs, printouts and documents – he glanced at them all thirstily; drinking in sparse drops of the torrent of information that would make him great.

"It's all there," Peck stated. "Times, dates, all the evidence that you need to nail Laura Stepford." He shook his head. "It's gonna sell one hell of a lot of papers!"

Laycock smiled broadly. "And make me rich!" His eyes sparked covetously. "You got to let me pay you for this."

Peck grinned, remembering the long hours he and Murdock had spent piecing together the evidence – hacking into computer systems, staking out meetings, photographing, cataloguing; it had all taken a lot of time and patience but in the end they had enough evidence to send Lorelei away for a very long time, just as Murdock had promised they would. They had debated then how to engineer the fall, finally deciding that the media was the only way. Peck had contacted Amy for help. He was insistent that she was not to be the one to break the story because of the danger it would place her and her family in. But she had known a young, up and coming reporter, Simon Laycock, and Face had agreed that he could be the right man for the job. The evidence would be placed in the public domain before Lorelei could make any move to keep it hidden.

"Payment is seeing Lorelei go down," Peck responded. "That's all I need."

Laycock reached out a hand. "Thanks Mr Peck," he said firmly. "You won't be disappointed."

"I hope not."

Laycock stood up, holding the precious envelope close to his chest. "I got a deadline to meet," he said. "You coming, Amy?"

"Sure." Peck stood up and she turned to hug him close. "Get Murdock and go a long way away from here, Face; you don't want to be around when this hits!"

"I know."

She took a long look at him, trying to force away the awful sense of impending doom that his closeness brought her. "Look after yourself," she whispered.

"You too, Amy," he responded and she was gone.

Peck remained at the table as he finished his drink. The jazz was still rushing through him as he threw payment on to the table and made his way out of the restaurant.

Walking across the parking lot he sensed a car pulling up behind him. He turned to see Murdock in the Viper. The pilot rolled his eyes. "Want a lift, gorgeous?" he called.

"Don't mind if I do!" Peck replied flashing his smile as he climbed into the passenger seat. "How come you're driving my car again?" he asked as he fiddled with the seat belt.

Murdock shrugged and attempted no answer, instead his thoughts were on the business conducted in the restaurant. "Is it done?" he asked.

Face nodded. "Amy's friend is one ambitious lad," he mused.

"You think he's clean?"

It was Peck's turn to shrug. "Damned if I know, my alarm bells have been ringing constantly for a week at least. What did you do with the copies?"

"Relax, muchado. All safe, all secure!" Murdock pulled the Viper out into the traffic. "So where now?"

Peck let out a long, tired sigh. "I really don't know any more. Is it really over, Murdock?"

"Not yet a while, buddy but its out of our hands – we've done what we can. Relax – we're almost home free."

"Thanks, Murdock."

"For what?"

"Oh just everything; helping me through this. Stopping me from doing something really stupid… for just being there, I guess."

Murdock smiled. "Hey, you're a special guy, Templeton Peck and I'd do anything for you." He rested his hand on Peck's knee and squeezed it gently. But his smile suddenly froze on his lips. "Don't look behind us."

Peck stiffened, sensing the pilot's disquiet as the strong urge to do exactly what he had been told not to rushed through him. "Why?"

"Sedan behind; been following us for a couple of blocks. Might be nothing but…."

Peck fidgeted nervously in his seat. "You think its Lorelei's style?"

"Let's see shall we?" Murdock gently increased the speed of the Viper, the sedan behind did likewise. Murdock eased off the gas and came to a stop at the red lights in front of them. "Reckon he's company," he muttered. "Here he comes!"

The sedan pulled out into the lane beside them and the window came down.

"Westwood!" Peck spat as he saw the familiar features. As the green light flashed on in front of them, he shouted, "Hit it Murdock!"

Murdock gunned the motor and the Viper leapt forwards. "What was that about being home free?" Peck asked.

"No sweat, buddy. He's got a sedan, we got a Viper – I know where I'm gonna put my money. Tighten your seat belt and hold on – this is where it gets exciting!"

They screeched around corners and whirled passed cars, Murdock fighting the wheel and Peck gripping the door handle tightly as he glanced back over his shoulder at the omnipresent sedan. "You're not losing him," he muttered.

"Thanks for the commentary," Murdock spat through gritted teeth. "Just up here if I'm not mistaken…"

Murdock swung the Viper into an alleyway with a squeal of tyres and let out a loud curse as he was forced to jam on the brakes. Peck was thrown forwards in his seat. "Oh just great!" he groaned as he saw another black sedan coming straight at them down the alley. Murdock threw the Viper into reverse but already the first car had turned into the alley and blocked off their escape. "Now I know why Hannibal always let BA drive!" Peck quipped humourlessly.

A number of black suited individuals were climbing out of the cars and moving towards them menacingly.

"Hi Westwood, Thomas," Peck smiled blandly as the two familiar heavies came to a stop beside his door. "It's been a long time – I hope you're keeping well!"

Westwood's features were cracked into his omnipresent idiotic grin whereas Thomas retained his distaining distance. "What a nice welcome," he growled. "But it don't make no difference. Lady wants to see you!"

Peck let out a sigh of mock relief and rolled his eyes. "A lady?" he repeated. "Why didn't you say? I thought it was Lorelei you boys worked for, but a lady? You've gone up in the world?"

"Funny, real funny but we ain't laughing, Peck!" Thomas leaned into the car and took hold of Peck's shirt. "Come on and bring your monkey too! We need to finish this for once and for all!"

"Monkey?" Murdock chirped indignantly. "Who the hell are you calling a monkey, you big gorilla?"

* * *

After being handcuffed they were forced into the back of a sedan and driven to railway sidings on the edge of town. "Get out," Westwood ordered. 

Stiffly the pair eased themselves out slowly. "Gee trains!" Peck said sarcastically. "Where are we going?"

Murdock turned around on the spot, his mouth curling into a bad tempered pout. "I need my numbers book!" he whined. "So many engine numbers and I'm missing them all!"

Peck cocked a sceptical eyebrow at his friend. "Murdock, you're a train spotter?" he asked his voice edged with disbelief. "All this time and I never knew, never even suspected!"

Murdock hung his head. "It's my guilty secret. If you tell anyone about it Face, I shall have to kill you!"

"That won't be necessary," Westwood cut in, pushing Peck forwards. "It's already been arranged. Now cut the crap and get moving." He looked over his shoulder to where Thomas was pushing the pilot. "One of them was bad enough but both of them giving it some lip is just goddamn annoying!" he grumbled despondently.

They stumbled over the tracks, passing some deserted wagons and up a slight hillock. The sun was high in the sky, bouncing off the dusty landscape and the shafts of metal that had been dumped around the yard. Silhouetted against the bright light and standing waiting at the top of the hill, Peck could make out three figures. He squinted, trying to see their features but his eyes watered and he could not focus on them well enough.

"That's far enough!" Westwood's voice stopped them. And a well placed push in their backs forced them both to their knees.

"Well, well, well." A female voice came from above. "I've waited a long time for this sweet moment; not only Templeton Peck but his flyboy lover too – both at my feet in the dust."

"Lorelei!" Peck spat.

"Who else?" She stepped forward and moved to stand in front of him. Reaching down with perfectly manicured fingers she took hold and lifted his chin until their eyes met. "Are you scared, Templeton? Because you should be!"

He let out a ragged breath and tried to look away, refusing to be drawn. "Here is where it all ends." She continued as she looked around. "A fitting place for a little piece of shit to finally be squashed underfoot, don't you think?"

Peck could sense Murdock tensing beside him. He licked his lips nervously and prayed his voice would not reveal his fear. "It's over," he said bravely. "Give it up Lorelei. Killing me won't save you. We've put things in motion, we've got a plan and it's going to come together whether I'm here or not. There is no escape!"

She laughed then, throwing her head back, a strangely carefree sound which echoed over the barren wasteland. "You have a plan!" she mocked. "Do you really think I didn't know what you were doing? What your pathetic little plan entailed? Did you really think you could outwit me? Me?"

She reached down again and grabbed Peck by the collar. He gagged painfully as she pulled him to his feet. "A plan! Let me show you what a real plan looks like, like me introduce you to the intricate parts of my plan!"

He staggered behind her, she pulled him up to the top of the dirt hill as she continued talking. "You see, Templeton, you have never been out of my sight, never off my radar. I have tracked you since the last time you escaped me because this time I wanted to be sure, sure you would not walk away from me again. I made sure I knew everything about you." Roughly she pulled his head up so he could see the face of the figure in front of him. "I'd introduce you to Robby Blake but I think you've already met!"

"Robby?" Peck's voice was little more than a moan as his eyes flashed betrayal.

Blake gulped. "I'm sorry, Peck," he began. "I really like you and I'm still thankful for you did for me in the shower but I've been in her pay all along…" He shrugged and looked away from Peck's penetrating stare.

"You really need to sort out who you can trust, Templeton," Lorelei laughed. "All that delicious info you spilled out into luscious Robby's ears and it all came straight back to me. I didn't even have to bug you to find it all out this time. That motor mouth of yours just blubbered off out of control!"

Her face suddenly lost all humour then, becoming as stern as stone. She reached out and slapped Peck's cheek hard, his head slammed back with the force of it.

With a growl Murdock tried to get to his feet but Westwood pushed the gun into his chest and stopped his upward motion. Lorelei turned to regard the pilot spitefully. "Be patient," she ordered. "You are going to die too. You deserve it! You interfered with my plan. You stopped little Templeton listening to the poisonous plot that Robby was whispering in his ear. It would have been such fun to see him on trail for attempted murder – such entertainment for me and you denied me!" As she spoke she turned back towards Peck and pulled him forwards again. "So the pilot dies too but not until I've let him watch the life drip out of your sorry carcass, Templeton! But first, I have one more surprise for you." The second figure stepped into Peck's line of vision and the con man's stomach twisted. He let out a deep groan of despair as Lorelei laughed. "Simon Laycock may be an ambitious journalist but he was my junkie long before then, weren't you Simon?"

Laycock nodded and Peck saw the longing in his dull eyes once more – it was a sign all right, not of burning ambition, but of stultifying addiction. Despite the hot sun Peck shuddered as Lorelei continued, "I have always owned him and he gives me what I want; like envelopes full of incriminating evidence, for one more fix." She turned back to Peck. "Such a shame because you and the flyboy worked so hard. Pity you never understood the power of the organisation you were fighting. You underestimated me all along, Templeton, and now it's time to pay. Get down on your knees!"

Peck felt strong arms pressing him down into the dust once more. He looked up desperately, his heart thumping in his chest. "Don't kill Murdock," he said. "Do what you like to me, I don't matter but this doesn't include him – it never did! It was only ever you and me, Lorelei!"

She laughed outrageously. "Oh, how rich! You are begging me, Templeton! You are down on your knees, hands cuffed behind your back and begging me! How I wish my father was alive to see this! Come on, you're supposed to have a silver tongue; surely you can do better than this. Put your heart and soul into it for your man!"

Peck was shuddering but he forced his voice to remain as calm as he could. "Do what you like with me but don't hurt Murdock…. please…. I beg you!"

She nodded, tongue protruding over her lips slightly and her eyes flashing with excitement. "You really mean it, don't you? Oh you have read me so wrong all along. Do you really believe I have enough human kindness in my soul to listen to your pathetic pleas? Pitiful, pretty boy, just pitiful!"

She reached across and took hold of a revolver from Westwood, then she stood in front of the kneeling Peck. "But you will never know just what I am going to do to your flyboy, Peck, because I've had enough of silly games. You bore me now and I will finish it." She cocked the trigger and the noise echoed loudly. Peck gulped as she raised the gun to his head.

He closed his eyes squeezing them tightly together, fighting to remain still and emotionless – he would remain strong, he would not give her the pleasure of seeing him collapse into weakness as the memories flooded through him.

And the memories were vivid and bleak and terrifying. He remembered a similar scene, he recalled being on his knees in the mud of Vietnam and the VC Captain holding the cold gun barrel to his forehead…. the infinite wait… the freezing fear deep in his bowels….. the inevitable ending.

"Say goodbye, Templeton!" Lorelei hissed.

* * *

TBC 


	13. Chapter 13

**Part 13**

"Hannibal." The name fluttered around Peck's head; a lucky talisman, a ghostly saviour or just a desperate grasp to hold on to life? But he lacked the voice and the will to summon his mentor as the memories flooded through him.

And the memories were vivid and bleak and terrifying. He remembered a similar scene, he recalled being on his knees in the mud of Vietnam and the VC Captain holding the cold gun barrel to his forehead…. the infinite wait… the freezing fear deep in his bowels….. the inevitable ending.

"Say goodbye, Templeton!" Lorelei hissed pressing the gun to his temple.

A cold shudder of fear rushed through Peck.

And then all hell broke lose!

The dull throb that had only been a background noise suddenly exploded into the thundering thrash of helicopter blades as the craft swept upwards from behind the stationary train where it had been hidden. "Police! Put the guns down!" boomed an authoritive voice from the hovering bird.

Clouds of dust were blown up, stinging and watering the eyes and flapping hair and clothes in the wind. From out of the wagons a whole squad of SWAT Officers leapt guns ready as they fanned out to take offensive positions. Tearing up the hill at their front came of terrifying sight – gold glittered through the gloom, Mohawk hair standing up aggressively on his head and massive muscles flexing. BA was determined to be in any fight for his two friends. But his strength was barely needed; the trap was well and truly sprung – very few of Lorelei's men bothered to put up any sort of fight.

From his position on his knees, Murdock glanced up to see Westwood staring around him in shocked awe. As indignant fury crashed through him, Murdock took the chance and threw himself into the big man's barrel of a chest, knocking him away and down the hill. Hands still cuffed behind him the pilot sprang to his feet and threw himself at Lorelei as she hesitated, gun still at Peck's temple. They both fell rolling over and over through the choking dirt, down the hill.

"Bitch! Bitch!" Murdock screamed furiously as he rose to his knees and head butted Lorelei as she tried to rise, right on the nose. The perfectly sculptured face exploded into a bloody mess.

Peck remained kneeling motionless as he had been throughout, shuddering slightly, paralysed, eyes tightly closed as if desperately denying everything that was happening about him.

By that time the police had reached them and began to take control. Within minutes Lorelei was standing, sniffing back the blood into her battered, snot covered nose, hands cuffed behind her and eyes blazing with hatred as she watched Peck slowly climb numbly to his feet, stretch out his hands as the chains were removed and then walk purposely towards her.

"I don't like to boast," he said with his trademark smile. "But I think it was you, Lorelei, that underestimated me all along. I've been fighting people like you all my life; I must have picked up some ability along the way. I'll give you Robby Blake sure – I had no idea but I guess that explains why that whiskey knocked me out the other week – another one of your pharmaceutical delights, was it?" He looked across at Murdock who smiled encouragingly at him. "And thanks to Murdock, my flyboy, as you so rightly said, Robby's influence was only ever fleeting. As you can see from all this," he indicated the combined force of the LAPD that surrounded them. "I never really went for Simon Laycock – too smooth and not enough substance." His smile was even more stunning as he rolled his eyes. "It takes one to know one!"

"You bastard!" she screamed and tried to rush forward to reach him but the police officer behind her held her back.

Murdock laughed. "I see you haven't lost your affect on women, Faceman! She's just desperate to get hold of you!"

Peck nodded. "She's been after me for years."

Lorelei was trembling with rage as Peck stepped closer. "May I?" he politely asked the officer who nodded in permission. Very gently he reached across and stroked the hair from her face, then with his handkerchief he wiped away the blood that was pooling beneath her nose. The fury that ran through her was truly terrifying but Peck ignored it. Instead he took her face in his hands and stooped to plant a long passionate kiss on her lips. She tensed, squealing her dissent and trying to push him off but he was too strong for her, holding her tightly as she struggled, his lips ravishing hers.

Finally he pulled away smirking. "I've wanted to do that for one hell of a long time," he confessed. "It's my present to you Laura Stepford, something to remember me by on all those lonely nights you are going to have in prison. Just think of me and remember, Templeton Peck bested you like he did your father, sweet Lorelei!"

Murdock guffawed and moved to put his arm around Peck's shoulders. Together they walked back down the hill to where BA and Amy waited.

"Look at that," Peck whined as he brushed the dirt from his clothes. "Another pair of pants ruined!"

"Don't matter, Facey," Murdock muttered. "Now, that this is all over, I'm gonna take you somewhere you won't need to worry about your pants!"

Peck rolled his eyes. "Promises, promises!" he whispered back.

"Murdock, Face, you OK?" Amy asked as she hugged them both.

"Great!" the pilot answered.

"Oh just wonderful!" Peck said. "I just love being on my knees in the dirt, ruining my pants, with a gun at my head in the hands of a mad bitch who wants me dead. I find it just so uplifting!"

"Quit whining, Face!" Murdock chastised him. "You survived it, didn't you?"

"Thanks to me!" BA's voice rumbled angrily.

"BA!" Murdock leapt at the big man. "Give us a cuddle, you lovely, wonderful, mud sucker!"

"Get off, fool!" BA scowled and tried to fight off the pilot but he hung on resolutely.

"Careful, BA," Face cautioned him. "He's a limpet and once he gets under your skin, you've got no chance!"

"Yuk!" BA pulled a face. "I can't think of anything worse – fool under my skin!"

"Thank you, thank you, thank you…" Murdock kept repeating as he hugged the big man. "Never thought the LAPD would save our necks and never imagined that BA would be the guy to lead 'em over the hill like the seventh cavalry. Who'd have thought you would rescue Butch and Sundance – my hero!"

"Yeah, thanks BA," Peck said, managing to shake the big guy's hand between swots. "We couldn't have done it without you."

BA's scowl broke into a smile. "I know. It's a good job I'm here to look after you two. On you own you useless!"

"Useless!" Peck snorted in disgust.

"BA!" Murdock echoed, still trying to force his way under BA's armpit to continue his hug.

Amy giggled as the two men engaged in their own personal sumo match. BA was getting more angry by the second. "Get off me fool!" he was shouting.

"Somethings will never change," Peck sighed as he turned back to Amy.

"But other things do, Face," she said rolling her eyes to where Lorelei was being lead away to a waiting police car, lights flashing furiously below them. "I'm sorry about Simon Laycock," she continued. "I really hoped he was a good guy."

Peck smiled. "Well, not everyone can be as good as they look!" He said arrogantly. "Don't worry about it, Amy."

They hugged again. "So what now?" Amy asked as she pulled away.

"Now?" Peck smiled. "Now, I feel like a ten ton weight has been lifted from my soul. Now, I feel freer than I have in years and now I have Murdock!" He let out a long, satisfied sigh. "Now, at last, I can be happy!"

She chuckled again at his obvious enthusiasm and lust for life – he looked years younger! "You deserve it, Face. Now, don't you think you should rescue Murdock from BA, while there's still something left for you to rescue?"

"Good point, Amy! BA put Murdock down… please!"

* * *

Templeton Peck let out a long, contented breath as he regarded himself in the mirror. "Not bad," he muttered as he ran his hand through his hair. "Not bad at all!"

He found it impossible to stop his mouth quirking at the edges into a wicked grin. Turning from the mirror, his eyes fell on the bed and memories of the ecstasy of the night that he and Murdock had shared there caused his grin to widen even further.

He glanced at his watch – 10.40 already! God! Murdock had really left him to lie in bed for a long time. Throughout his life staying in bed in the morning had not been something he had been able to experience very often, but this morning Peck had felt so overwhelmingly at peace with himself and the world in general that he had not wanted to exit the covers. For once life was good! Murdock's stomach, however, had not allowed him to stay in bed any longer and after it started to rumble noisily, he had grudgingly pulled himself away from his partner, dressed quickly and wondered over to the diner for breakfast.

It was a full week since his final run in with Lorelei. She was safely behind bars and Peck had luxuriated in the blissfulness the closure had brought him. He and Murdock had decided to take the Viper and simply drive where the mood took them. They were up in the mountains, moving from one motel to the next, doing a little fishing but mainly just being happy together. They were making no plans – that would come later. Now the pressure was off at last and they were both determined to make the most of it.

After Murdock had gone, Peck had finally roused himself to take a long, hot shower. He had taken his time in the bathroom and dressing – didn't he always? But this time he was relaxed and happy. Still at 10.40, he should really get a move on.

Peck exited into the bright morning sunlight that filtered through the pine trees towering tall above the motel. He made his way across the parking lot, listening to the call of a bird and breathing in the nostril tingling smell of pine. His mind went back over the months to a similar journey he had made towards Murdock. That day he had been scamming a helicopter, his senses focused on the cell phone pressed to his head and unaware of the beauty that was all around him. That day had been just the start of the roller coaster ride that had been his life, it had been about to scream off frighteningly out of control.

His mind ran over the events of the weeks and months in between. Although it was all over, he still wondered, still did not understand. "Hannibal," he muttered. "What were you trying to tell me?"

He shook his head, deciding to concentrate on what he knew; today it was all done, all finished. Today he could relax.

Murdock's face lit up as he entered the diner. "Hiyah, gorgeous!" he called, then his eyes narrowed mischievously and his voice was pitched lower so it only reached Peck's ears as he continued. "I'm surprised you can walk after last night!"

Peck felt the flush heat his cheeks but he held Murdock's gaze and laughed. "And I'm surprised you can get anything in your mouth!" he retorted playfully.

Murdock batted his eyelids. "Not just anything!" he pouted. "Only sweet things! Want a pancake?"

"No, coffee's good!" Peck said sliding into the booth the other side of the table from Murdock.

The pilot offered across his cup. "Take mine, I'm done anyway. I don't want to eat when you're around. Let me just look at you Faceyman!"

Peck took a long slurp of the coffee. His tone was serious when he began, "Murdock, you've saved me in so many ways. I don't know if I can ever make it up to you. I …"

Murdock snorted. "Enough, Face," he said softly. "We don't need to say this, cos we both know." He reached out hesitantly and took hold of Peck's hand where it rested on the table. He expected it to retract from his touch but blue eyes came up to rest on his, gently affirming their consent. Peck's smile was brilliant.

"So what are we gonna do today?" Murdock asked. "Driving, fishing," he wriggled his eyebrows lecherously, "….. back to bed, maybe?"

Peck opened his mouth to respond but he never got the chance because at that precise moment a terrific BANG exploded through the air around them. The window in front of the booth where they sat exploded into a million pieces of sharp, shattering glass.

"What the fuck!" Murdock screamed.

* * *

TBC 


	14. Chapter 14

**Part 14**

A terrific BANG exploded through the air around them. The window in front of the booth where they sat exploded into a million pieces of sharp, shattering glass.

"What the fuck!" Murdock screamed.

Peck threw himself away from the fragmenting glass and found he was sprawled on the floor, covered in shards of skin piercing material and shivering uncontrollably. He leant back pushing himself into the side of the seat and tried to force his lungs to slow down their hyperventilating rush for oxygen.

Murdock was in a similar position at the other side of the table. "You OK, Facey?" he asked.

Peck's face was pale and strained, his eyes tightly closed and he was shaking his head slowly as he whispered, "Shit."

"Face?" Murdock tried again.

The diner had descended into pure chaos. People were screaming and weeping, some on the floor, some crouched down on to their chairs. Mercifully it had not been a busy time of day but still there were enough people there for the air to be rent by various sounds of fear and shock.

Murdock reached out his hand to firmly clasp hold of Peck's shoulder, ignoring as he did so the little cuts that were weeping blood on both of their exposed skin areas. "Face?" he asked again.

Peck was shuddering, pure adrenaline was rushing through his veins and, as he turned to look at his friend, Murdock saw that his eyes were wide and wild. He groaned dejectedly. "I fucked up, again!" he muttered.

"Why?"

Peck simply shook his head as the dread fingered through him like a creeping darkness, chilling deep down into his very soul. He had seen what had broken the window because the brick had landed on the table in front of him as he instinctively threw himself out of the way. It was just any old brick but around it was tied a piece of material that was there to give a message and Peck had understood it all too well. The material was a violent red bandana decorated with black dog shapes – the Brotherhood of the Black Coyote were in town!

* * *

Bubba Bop was not born a patient man. It was hardly surprising; the son of a heroin addict and a street hooker, the world that had shaped him included many sensations – hatred, violence, fear and pain but never any time for patience. Through his informative years his eyes were presented with the constant re-enactment of the need for instant gratification, the need to reach out and take, and consequently the selfish primeval desire was etched deep into him. From the day four year old Bubba witnessed his father gunned down on the street in front of him after an argument over less than twenty dollars worth of crack, Bubba knew that life was cheap and nasty. Wasn't nobody going to help or support him through any of it – whatever he wanted he would have to get himself and probably fight for in the process.

But Bubba was an intelligent boy and despite it all he did learn patience, learnt that in using it he was arming himself with an advantage over most of the other unfortunates condemned to live and die on the brutal streets of LA. For with patience came the concepts of thought and planning ahead and the insightful recognition that something worked for could bring greater satisfaction than any instant high. And for Bubba there was more too – he made himself learn to read and while other kids his age shot up in alleys or mumbled and fumbled with two bit whores, Bubba went down to the city library and read. He read all books but his favourites were biographies, and not just any old stories but those that centred on great and infamous leaders – Hitler, Alexander, Stalin and Hannibal; he devoured them all. He read of leaders and generals, tyrants and despots and with his growing understanding his lust for power grew correspondingly.

He began to believe that he shared certain characteristics with these great men; that he was special, that he would achieve more than the mere mortals he lived around. His first stay in the penitentiary, after he was found guilty of a violent assault, brought him even greater insight. He shared a cell with a wily old character by the name of Blackjack who introduced Bubba to a whole new concept – the idea that the colour of your skin was important. All the histories he had read, all his idols had been white men. Blackjack opened up a whole new catalogue of heroes – men like Malcolm X and Nat Turner, Marcus Garvey and Idi Amin and Bubba accepted this new information with gratitude and a feeling far down in his soul that this was the ultimate of truths. A deep seated pride began to blossom in the young man and with it came a hatred of anything that was not like him, specifically anyone who did not share his ebony colouring – yellow, red or white, it did not matter, if they were not black, they were the enemy.

After he came out of prison, the blood running through his veins fired by indignation and his sense of oppression, Bubba founded the Brotherhood of the Black Coyote. Those first years were hard; Bubba had to win respect from not only his own men but also the rest of the world. He did it by putting into practice the theories he had read about – he was simply more violent, more aggressive and more inhuman than any other leader on the block and he demanded that his gang members act likewise. The streets simmered with inter-racial tension boiling into violence often and Bubba fed off it, bathing himself in blood and using it to increase his power base along with his reputation.

The past year had seen the Brotherhood increase in influence through a series of horrifically violent attacks and also via its involvement in the drugs market. Bubba saw no moral dilemma in associating with the races he abhorred if it brought him personal gain. He had dealings with Lorelei's organisation regularly but although they knew each other, neither one knew they shared a common hatred of a man called Peck.

That Bubba hated Peck was obvious – he did so by definition since Peck's skin was the wrong colour and of all races, Bubba hated all white man with the most intense of passions – they were the embodiment of all the tyranny and oppression suffered by the black man for centuries. But Bubba's hatred of Peck, much to the conman's bad fortunate, ran far deeper than that which he felt for the average white man. This time it was personal. Ramba, currently languishing in Folsom State Prison, was Bubba's younger brother, and the fact that he had almost died because some piece of old white trash had jumped him in the shower, could not be tolerated. Peck had humiliated Ramba and as a consequence humiliated not only the Brotherhood but Bubba himself. It would not be allowed, of course, Peck would pay.

That was when Bubba's patience came into play – he had waited a long time for this moment. He had tracked Peck when he left prison but Lorelei's goons had got in the way. The Brotherhood had been close at Sheriff Wyatt Hopkins' small cell block next to Sierra Creek. Maddened by the need for vengeance and invigorated by the crack flooding their blood, the Brotherhood had arrived too late to find their quarry. Frustrated and furious they had nevertheless enjoyed a wonderful time by trashing the place and killing its occupants in a wild orgy of violence and destruction that even Sheriff Hopkins, for all his years of upholding the law, was powerless to battle against.

Bubba had lost track of Peck for a while after that but he had not forgotten that he owed him. It was only luck that had brought the conman back on to the Brotherhood's radar, but Bubba knew all great leaders benefited from that – it was how they used their luck that made them great. Luck, in this particular case, came in the form of Robby Blake. He was another piece of white trash who had insulted the Brotherhood, but word had come from the top of the drug supply chain that Blake was not to be touched. Blake may have borne a charmed life but on a hunch Bubba had one of his boys follow the kid and his patience had been rewarded. Blake had led them to Peck. Bubba had checked and Peck had no similar edict in place to save his skin; he was there for the taking! And taking him was exactly what Bubba had in mind.

Itching to move, Bubba had waited, biding his time and making his plans, waited until the furore about Lorelei had died down, waited until Peck and his boyfriend had come to this quiet, out of the way motel… waited, knowing that taking the prize was going to give him such satisfaction.

Now Bubba stood in the parking lot, having watched Peck arrogantly cross to the diner, sure that the piece of white trash had no notion of what was about to happen. The gathered legions of the Brotherhood silently moved out of the surrounding pine tree, guns ready and Bubba had never felt so powerful, so alive. His plans were made, the trap was set, and now all he had to do was watch Peck die!

* * *

Peck closed his eyes again – how could he have been so goddamn stupid? How could he have taken his eye off the ball? All right bringing Lorelei down had been a challenge and her final downfall had been so sweet, but that was no excuse for him misjudging the rest of the situation!

He remembered BA's warning on the beach – "I still hear the word on the street. Brotherhood of the Black Coyotes is bad news and they is getting worse." And "You don't wanna cross 'em, Face. That's all I'm saying. And if you did, you better tell cos I can help." Why in hell hadn't he confessed to BA what was going on?

Then there were the painful reminders in prison. And to think he'd only put himself on the line to rescue Robby Blake who turned out to be Lorelei's stool pigeon all along. It just was not fair!

He remembered his dreams, unconsciously glancing up at the clock, he could not control the twist in his belly that radiated through the rest of his body when he saw the time – 10.50. He was going to die at 11 o'clock… there was something he had not done, something he had forgotten and for that he was going to die! He was going to die because he had misjudged the Brotherhood of the Black Coyotes! The dream had shown him it so often, but only now was it really clear to him. And then the one thought cutting through everything else with razor sharp precision; did he really have less than ten more minutes to live?

"Face?" Murdock hissed again.

Peck drew in a deep breath. He had to get himself together! He had to think his way through this! Shit, Murdock was here – he deserved an explanation. And there were other people, innocents, who had no idea what was going on. They surely did not deserve this.

"Templeton Peck – you piece of white trash. We are here to make you pay!" The voice boomed towards them, deep and rich and dripping with potential violence.

"What the hell?" Murdock questioned.

Peck gulped and then started talking. "I fucked up HM. Remember the beach – BA talking about the Brotherhood of the Black Coyotes? And in prison, when I saved Robby Blake in the shower?"

Murdock moved across the floor to be closer, ignoring the broken glass. He was nodding now, his tongue nervously running across his lips as he sought to understand.

"I didn't think they were serious," Peck continued. "I thought it was all show, all about their twisted male egos, posturing bullshit. I mean I knew I got them pissed at me but I thought…."

"What did they say they were going to do to you, Face?" Murdock asked gently, suspecting he already knew the answer.

"Kill me," Peck said, shaking his head. "It's not fair!"

"Figures," Murdock let his breath whistle out through his teeth. "It's never fair. We need a plan."

Peck nodded, forcing his heart to slow and breathing as deeply as he could. He glanced around the diner. People were cowering behind tables and sniffling with fear. Peck cleared his throat. "It's all going to be OK, guys!" he pronounced as bleak, frightened eyes moved to rest of him. "Everybody move slowly to the back of the room, behind the counter." He was a little shocked when they all complied. "I'm the one they want," Peck continued as bravely as he could. "You guys will all be fine – trust me!"

"You're not going out there," Murdock hissed.

"You wanted a plan!" Peck retorted.

Murdock took a deep breath as he resisted the urge to argue. He thought for awhile. "You got your gun?"

Peck nodded, his hand going instinctively to the bulge beneath his jacket.

"OK. Here's what we do," Murdock said. "The Viper is only a couple of yards away. I got the keys here. You go left and I go right. Meet you there."

Peck stared at him open mouthed. "Is that it?" he said.

Murdock pouted. "Yeah," he said defensively.

"Well, it's not much better than my plan. Anyway I am not…."

Peck was cut off as a deafening volley of automatic machine gun fire burst through the window. Bullets thudded into the wood of the tables and chairs and shattered the glasses and crockery that were spread about the place. Peck cowered behind the booth as the screaming started again.

After the gun fire stopped Bubba shouted. "I'm waiting Peck! You disrespect the Brotherhood, you gotta pay! Or is your little white ass too yellow to come out here? Am I gonna have to come in there and get you?"

Peck turned to look at Murdock. "Murdock, I can't let you…"

Murdock bent forwards and kissed him on the mouth, forcing his tongue inside to shut Peck up. As he withdrew he smiled bravely. "Muchado, we're in this together and we'll get out of it together. Now, how many of them do you think there are?"

Peck shrugged. "I have no idea. Can't be many – they'd have to hire a bus to get up here!" As he talked he took the gun out of his shoulder holster and checked the barrel. "OK," he said softly but firmly. "I go right…"

"No, I go right," Murdock corrected him.

Peck snorted. "Whatever!" His face was suddenly even paler and he gulped. "Murdock, do you remember the end of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid?"

The pilot grimaced. "Face, you told me real often, this is not the film. I'm choosing to believe that right now!"

Peck nodded and moved towards the far exit but stopped. "There's something else I never told you," he began.

Murdock snorted. "Faceyman, we haven't got the time for confession – save it for later!"

"No. It's important. I have to tell you now." Peck hesitated before continuing. "I've been seeing Hannibal."

"In your dreams, you told me," Murdock tried not to let his impatience show in his voice.

"No, not just in my dreams. I see him everywhere, when I'm awake. I've been talking to him. I think I'm going mad!"

Murdock let out a long guffaw that sounded strange in their current predicament. "I love you, Templeton Peck!" He reached over and kissed him again. "I've been having conversations with Hannibal ever since he died!"

"You have? Why didn't you tell me?" Peck pressed.

Murdock shrugged. "Guess I thought it was natural," he said with a grin. "Man, the Colonel was never gonna leave us!"

Another staccato volley of gun fire cut through the peaceful morning air and they cringed together until it had stopped.

"Lots of innocent people are gonna die, Peck!" Bubba shouted. "Just because you ain't no man!"

Peck felt the eyes of everyone in the room suddenly turn to stare at him. The weight of their expectation suddenly seemed unbearably heavy. He pursed his lips in determination. "Let's do it!" he said and started to crawl away to the exit again.

"Face," Murdock called to him. Peck turned back expectantly. "You might want to send up a few prayers round about now!"

Peck smiled and nodded. As he reached the door, he leaned against the frame. "Jeez, I'm getting too old for this, Murdock!" he muttered.

Finally both of them knelt beside their respective exits. "Ready, Sundance?" Murdock called.

Peck nodded as their eyes met for one last time. A whole lifetime of understanding passed between them – memories that defined their lives, so many moments, hopes and dreams; all in the past. Murdock nodded back. It was enough.

Both men raised their guns, took a huge gulp and then stepped out into the bright sunlight to meet their destiny.

"Fire!" Bubba screamed.

Peck was firing himself as he exited the door, scattering bullets towards his enemies as best he could. He threw a glance across the lot to where the Viper was parked but it looked so very far away and he knew with stunning clarity that there was no way he was going to make it. He thought about retreating back into the diner but he was aware of gunfire coming from beside him that must be Murdock and he knew he could never leave him to face this mess of his making alone.

The first bullet hit him high on the thigh and he staggered but kept running. The second went low into his abdomen in almost exactly the same place as the VC bullet from so long ago and the third was in his shoulder, high velocity and spinning him around as he dropped his gun. And then he was falling forwards as the dusty surface of the parking lot rushed up to meet him.

The pain was intense and paralysing, his body spasming out of control as further bullets ripped into him embedding themselves deep into his bleeding being. He was lying in the dirt quivering violently and fighting for the next breath. Desperately he looked up seeing the immense clear, blue sky gazing down on him from above and he felt suddenly so small and insignificant.

He was fading away, could feel the life dripping out of him through the many wounds and with it went the pain too. All of his senses were losing clarity but he fought to hold on to them. Gathering what little strength he had left, he forced his head to move and his eyes to focus. He saw Murdock laying only a few feet away from him, those beloved eyes, always so full of life, were glazed and his left hand was reaching out towards Peck. Peck gulped. He felt like a huge weight was sitting on his chest and he could no longer inflate his lungs. The world around him continued to dim, the colours fading into grey as all intensity was lost. He wanted to touch his lover one last time but he knew he could not move, so he simply stared at Murdock, consuming the sight hungrily.

Peck did not care about the black shadow of the Brotherhood coming towards his twitching body nor the fact that the shooting had stopped. He did not hear the new noise – the police sirens blaring incessantly through the morning air. He perceived none of it. He simply lay and looked at his lover and waited for the next heart beat or for eternity – it did not matter to him now.

And then the world blurred into nothingness, falling away completely into a shroud of searing, sweltering light. Peck's lips curved into one last brilliant smile – a smile to end all smiles.

The white light of gossamer softness and warmth enveloped him taking away all thought, all desire, all pain and he was at peace. He saw a figure before him and, as he breathed out his last breath, he whispered, "Hannibal…………….."


	15. Chapter 15

**Epilogue**

"_Everything dies baby that's a fact, _

_But maybe everything that dies someday comes back…"_

_Bruce Springsteen; 'Atlantic City' 1982_

* * *

"You OK, baby?" Aisha asked as BA groaned and rolled over in bed. She knew the answer to her question already; of course he wasn't OK, hadn't been for a while now, not for three weeks, not since it happened. 

BA growled and sat up, the moonlight as it shone in through their open bedroom window glinted off his gold and she heard the familiar tinkle as he moved. "Gonna get milk," he muttered hoarsely.

"Sure, darling," Aisha said. "Don't open a fresh one until you used up the started one first!"

He waved his hand in acknowledgment as he left the bedroom. Aisha sighed deeply and lay back on to the pillow. He blamed himself, she knew. She could see it in his eyes, something deep inside him had died that awful day.

She remembered with a shudder the news on CNN, the reporter standing in the parking lot at some motel up in the mountains, rambling on about inter-racial gang violence spreading throughout the state. She hadn't really been paying attention, not until Boscoe Junior had said, "Isn't that Uncle Face's Viper?"

She had looked up then and watched with a sick twisting in her gut as the full horror of what had occurred unfolded before her like an unimaginable nightmare. BA had come in from the garage, stood by the couch, shaking his head slowly, clenching his fists, whispering 'no' but it was all too true. The phone had shrieked harshly into life at that moment and it didn't seem to have stopped since, neither did the endless organising, the polite condolences, the whispering behind hands and the pressing media questions. If Aisha hated it, BA did more so but he had found the strength to get through the funeral somehow. It was now, after it became apparent that things never would be the same again, that she knew he found it so difficult to bear.

And especially in the middle of the night when the guilt came; scratching at the window, shimmering under the door and hovering over the bed. He blamed himself. She worried what to do. It was not in BA's nature to walk away – he had to make someone pay for his pain. And in doing so she feared he would bring the whole of that monstrous gang with its malevolent muscle down on to her fragile family.

Aisha had argued with him, tried to make him see he had done all he could; he had warned Peck of the danger, offered his help. It wasn't BA's fault that Peck had been a stupid stubborn fool. Why the hell hadn't the conman come clean? Why the hell hadn't he told the rest of the Team? Not for the first time, Aisha cursed Peck's name. How was she supposed to pick up the pieces, cope with the only surviving member of the A Team? How could she make BA see the fact that he had to give up his anger, let it go and carry on living, that he had a duty to his family even if he had lost three people who were very important to him? She sighed how could she help him fight the ghosts of his past and re-engage with the living?

Downstairs, BA carefully removed the milk and took a long deep gulp, feeling the cool liquid running down his throat and sticking to his upper lip.

"Oh mud sucker, you got a milk moustache!" A familiar voice came from behind him.

BA growled, initially the incongruity of the moment did not register with him. "Don't you…." He began and then the impossibility hit him hard. He stopped, shock rocketing through him as he swung around to see three ghostly figures in his kitchen. All were there but not there, he could see distinctly through them all and yet they appeared as real as they had when they were younger. Each one though eerie and surrounded by a bright light appeared to be happier than BA remembered, somehow.

Ghostly Murdock was dressed in his leather jacket and baseball cap as he sat on the kitchen top beside the bread board, one foot hitched up so he could lean his head on his knee, the other dangly down almost to the floor. He was regarding BA lovingly, eyebrows lost somewhere in his cap, waiting for the big guy to catch on.

Behind him, standing by the door, cigar in mouth and blue eyes gleaming brighter than the fridge light, Colonel Hannibal Smith was chuckling softly. And sitting courteously at the table as if waiting for dinner, dressed in smart jeans, check shirt and a black leather jacket, Templeton Peck smiled his million megawatt smile.

BA growled and sniffed his milk suspiciously. Then he ran his bejewelled hands across his eyes to try to make the vision disappear but it did not. "You really here?" he barked belligerently. "Or is this milk older than it smells, giving me hallucinations?"

Smith nodded and stepped forward. "Oh yes, BA, we're really here." He took a long draw on his cigar and puffed out a lungful of smoke contentedly. "Faceman found the best cigars in heaven," he said placing his hand on Peck's shoulder and squeezing it supportively.

"What can I say, it's a gift," Peck muttered modestly.

"You can't be in my kitchen," BA spat. "You dead!"

"Technically, yes!" Smith agreed. "But, as you know we were never hot on technicalities – they make the plan too problematical! Keep it simple has always been my motto."

"We wanted to come and say not goodbye, but simply farewell, until we meet again," Murdock said dramatically.

BA screwed up his eyes. "What you mean, fool?"

"We mean, BA," the Colonel responded. "Some bonds bind us tighter than anything you can imagine. Friendship and love can be stronger than everything else in the whole universe. We went through a lot together – we were a true team. We cared for each other deeply – how could all that energy, all that power just disappear?"

"We don't want you to worry about us, BA," Peck said, slowly climbing to his feet as Murdock slid from the counter. "You have to carry on living." The three men stood in a line in front of their disbelieving friend who could quite clearly see the far kitchen wall through them.

"You're upset about what happened at the diner – believe me we were pretty pissed too!" Murdock said. "But we don't want you doing anything stupid, putting yourself and your family at risk. Let the police deal with it. Let the good ol' LAPD come through for once."

"It's a circle of violence," Peck said. "Only you can stop it. I screwed up, misjudged the situation, we don't want you to do the same. You were always stronger than me, BA. Whereas I got so entangled in the mess I couldn't get out, you got the courage to walk away. I never had that." He sighed. "It's too complicated today, too much to control. I just don't fit in anymore; I liked it better when we knew who the bad guys were at least!"

"And stop mourning us, BA," Hannibal said. "We're good and we're here waiting for you."

"You saying I'm gonna die, man?"

"Of course BA," Hannibal smiled as the big man tensed. "But if you leave the Brotherhood of the goddamn Black Coyote alone not for a long time yet."

"You got things to do, BA," Peck said. "Family to look after."

"Grandchildren pretty soon too!" Murdock wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. "And you better call one after me!"

"HM?" Peck whined. "How can he call one after you when you won't even tell us what your proper name is?"

"Grandchildren!" BA spat in disbelief.

"You still got a long life ahead of you, BA. You adapted to the world far better than any of us ever did. You've made a place for yourself, carved out a life whereas we three only ever longed for the past; we were happiest there. But you, you've got a future. Live it to the full!" Smith said. "But be assured, we'll be waiting for you when the time comes."

"Heaven's not as peaceful as you might think," Murdock said cryptically. "Still need to kick a few asses!"

"And we'll be keeping an eye on you and yours," Smith said. "Making sure you get no nasty surprises!"

BA let out a long sigh. "I miss you guys," he disclosed finally allowing his feelings to show.

"We will never be far away, BA," Hannibal promised. "The A Team will never die!"

Aisha was amazed to hear BA humming softly to himself as he climbed back into bed beside her.

"You OK, honey?" she asked.

"Great!" he beamed.

They lay quietly for a while and then BA cleared his throat. "Aisha?" he started. "You know that you told me that Boscoe Junior has been spending time with a girl. Do you think it's time we had a talk about the birds and the bees? I'm way too young to be a grandfather!"

Aisha let out a squeal of disbelief. "BA what brought that on?"

BA gulped, his forehead crumpling with worry. "You can never be too careful," he said. "Kid's start young these days.

Aisha rolled her eyebrows. "Yes; but Boscoe Junior is only ten!" BA could have sworn he heard the sound of two all too familiar giggles in the darkness. He grimaced stoically and ignored them!

They cuddled together and Aisha smiled, sensing her man was more relaxed than he had been for weeks. "I'm glad you're feeling better," she said.

"I just realised something that's all," BA responded.

She regarded him questioningly. "What?"

"The A Team ain't never gonna die - some things are just too good to lose!"

* * *

THAT'S ALL FOLKS! 


End file.
